


A Devil's Hunger

by VenerableVenable (grilledcheeseandguavajelly)



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Angst, But I had an idea at 3am and ran with it, Canon Divergent, F/F, Fluff, Happy halloween kiddos, Smut, and probably a lot of confusion, i don't know what this is, music is magic my friends, this ended up being more piano-centric than I anticipated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grilledcheeseandguavajelly/pseuds/VenerableVenable
Summary: Wilhemina Venable isn't who she says she is, and you have a hell of a time figuring her out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This weird mash-up of a fic happened because I was watching AHS Apocalypse and couldn't sleep, and I also have a life-threatening obsession with Ms. Venable. So here you go. 
> 
> I'm going to say this is quite "canon divergent" because I wrote this after only seeing the first three episodes. The characters and some pieces of plot are the same, but it will probably end up being VERY different. Bear with me!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little sleep deprived, mind-melded idea.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters! Let's all say "thank you Ryan Murphy" for gifting us with Ms. Venable (and everybody else) :)
> 
> Happy Halloween!

The job was horrid. The job was mundane. But this job was the most coveted at the Outpost, and however bored, humiliated, or tormented you were, you knew that you had been assigned to do this for a reason.

You wobbled on a ladder, reaching above you to prop a box on a shelf.

“Don’t fall,” a group of greys sneered, nudging the ladder. Hard. Your foot slipped, but no sooner had you gasped and reached out to steady yourself then fingers gripped into your arm and hauled you upright.

You looked down to see Wilhemina Venable staring at you. “Careful,” she chided, removing her hand and placing it back atop her cane.

“Thank you,” you choked out, gripping your fingers into the top of the ladder to keep them from shaking. She hummed disapprovingly in the back of her throat, and then she was gone.

~~~

Ms. Venable had called the residents into attendance the first night they arrived.

The purples weren’t there. The purples got a warm reception with alcohol and fresh fruit. The greys got sprayed, scrubbed, and dressed for assignment.

Venable stood with Ms. Meade in the front of the room, her demeanor elevating her from the rest of the crowd. She was wearing a high collared black dress, the lace ruffles brushing against her jaw as she swallowed. She looked like some sort of 1800s goth vampire. There was so much to take in: her outfit, her cane, her perfectly coiffed hair. And yet you found yourself focusing on the little things when you allowed yourself to look at her - her uneven posture, the way her fingers twitched, the slight tilt of her head every time she shifted her weight. You barely allowed yourself the time to notice, though, because each time your eyes flicked over to her you squirmed. She was authoritative. She was fierce. Her stern expression was unwavering, and it set your heart pounding.

She had looked each new resident up and down, quirked her jaw in distaste, and assigned them a role. But when she looked at you, something stirred in your chest. It was almost enough to make you reach out and steady yourself, but you grounded your mind by sliding your hands over the skirt of your dress. Venable’s gaze darted down to your fingers fidgeting at your sides. Her eyes met yours, and though her expression didn’t change, something sparked behind her eyes and she seemed almost pleased as she made up her mind.

When she simply stated “laundry”, you felt a small sense of pride, despite the irritated groans from the other girls in the group. Ms. Venable’s eyes narrowed at the sound, but her gaze remained locked on yours as she rapped her cane twice on the ground. The group fell silent. 

“These assignments are final. Non-negotiable. If you have any concerns about your role at this Outpost, you may take it up with Ms. Meade.” Venable broke your eye contact to indicate towards the shorter woman. Ms. Meade met her gaze and smirked, her fingers tightening on the metal-bristled broom she held in her grip. Venable continued, almost drawling, “I’m sure she would have no trouble _persuading _you to reexamine your qualms.”

~~~

A few weeks went by. First the training, where the other greys promptly formed cliqués that more than excluded you. Then the schedules went out, and when you were somehow assigned the most coveted shifts, the other girls only hated you more. They would play stupid tricks, spread stupid rumors, and about three weeks in you started to realize why Venable would glare at all of them. It was like school, but worse because you couldn’t get out. You didn’t let yourself think of that, though, because it made your chest tighten and your fingers go numb. And there was no time for panic attacks at the end of the world.

~~~

Four more weeks went by, by your calculations. Too many dinners, too many assemblies, too many purples making too many demands. It seemed you were always carrying baskets of clothes down never-ending hallways. How they had so many different outfits, you would never know. About two weeks in, you noticed that you started passing Ms. Venable more than usual.

It started the day after some purple gushed at dinner about how his grey was trying to get another grey kicked out of the Outpost. He was talking all about wet laundry, throwing in wrong colors, cutting the cords on the steamers. The petty list went on and on, and you mentally ticked off the ones you had encountered until the purple was interrupted by two taps of a cane. You tried to smother your smile as Venable chewed him out for “wasting supplies” and “flagrant idiocy”. You told yourself it was a coincidence that she caught your eye once things settled back down.

After that, she had announced that there would be routine checks of the hallways, the facilities, the supplies. You hadn’t expected her to do the checks herself, but you found yourself consistently passing her in the hallway. She was constant in her eye contact, but rather than finding it unnerving like the rest of the residents, you found that you craved it. You would sneak glances at her just to see if she was looking at you. Somehow, she usually was.

A few times she came down the hallway as you were being cornered by the other greys. They never seemed to hear her cane, but your ears were getting a little too accustomed to the clacking. You blamed the heat that burned through your chest at the sound on the humiliation of being caught helpless and weak. It was embarrassing, but watching Venable loom over the girls and make them scatter without a word made everything worth it. You always tried to stifle a laugh, and this last time, you could have sworn you saw her bite down on a smile.

~~~

You were carrying a pile of laundry that was taller than you, but you hadn’t been able to find a basket for it and had a sneaking suspicion that those giggling greys had hidden them all. Rolling your eyes, you turned the corner into the laundry room and almost ran smack into Ms. Venable. You sucked in a sharp breath and tried to press yourself against the wall and occupy as little space as humanly possible.

“That’s a lot to carry,” she said, almost casually.

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” you replied quietly, your eyes tracking her from around the heap. You thought you saw her lip twitch when you spoke her name. You were probably wrong. She paused a few steps away.

“Ms. Y/N?”

You cleared your throat softly, your eyes tracing the line of her jaw as she worked it slowly. “Yes, Ms. Venable…?”

Her tongue scraped over her incisor as she considered you for a moment, her fingers fidgeting atop her cane. “I feel your potential is wasted here. I am reassigning you to my personal charge, effective immediately. You will report to my chambers instead of the kitchens for dinner, and you will bring my laundry.” She looked you up and down, and something in her eyes made you shiver. “Understood?”

You absolutely did not understand, but you were not about to pass up an opportunity to leave your horrible team behind. That was why butterflies started flitting around your stomach. You were excited for the change. It had nothing to do with the prospect of consistently being around Venable. Nothing at all. You gave a half-nod as your mind wandered. The sharp rap of a cane on stone floors snapped your attention back.

“You will speak to me when I address you,” Venable stated.

“Y-Yes, Ms. Venable.” You swallowed around the lump of embarrassment in your throat, and hastily thought to add a “thank you” and a soft curtsey before Venable turned on her heel and walked away, the clacking of her cane echoing down the hall long after she was out of sight.

~~~

You were early. Forty-five minutes early, to be exact. But you had been so focused on going to her room, _her room_, that you had managed to scrub through all of your other duties and your short shower in a blur. After dressing with shaking hands and pulling your hair back into the best braid you could manage, you set your shoulders, grabbed her laundry, and made your way down the maze of hallways to the one room that everyone had warned you to avoid at all costs.

A few soft knocks went ignored, so you opened the large wooden door and stepped through, balancing the creaking basket of her laundry on your hip. No sooner had you closed it behind you, though, then you turned and ran smack into another door. This one was metal. Images flashed through your head as you pictured what kind of dungeon could possibly be inside. Cold, dark, solitary. Just like Ms. Venable.

You knocked again, almost dropping the basket. Still nothing. A deep breath, and you turned the handle.

You entered her room quietly, but as you turned you couldn’t help the gasp that fell from your lips. It was beautiful, warm, and so un-like anything you could have possibly imagined. The stone walls were covered in plants - ivy and flowers and ferns. There were terrariums placed uniformly across the tops of desks and cabinets, and a large wooden table in the middle of the room held a leather-bound book that was pulled open and ear-marked.

A black glint in the corner of your eye caught your attention, and your eyes widened as you took in the baby grand piano nestled in the back of the room. Beside it was an archway that looked like it opened into a hallway. You stopped breathing so that you could listen for a moment, but heard nothing. She must have already gone down for dinner. You were alone. 

Slowly, you set down the basket of laundry. The piano called to you, pulled you to it almost against your will. Your fingers slid over the keys - real, ivory keys - and you closed your eyes. It had been so long, so incredibly long since you had touched a piano. Since you had heard the deep reverberation of the strings. Since you had been able to create something with your own two hands. Before you knew what you were doing you sat down, fingers gliding soundlessly over the keys.

The notes started stringing themselves together in your head, something eerie and quiet that reminded you of her. It was hard to get her out of your head, being surrounded by her belongings and in a place that smelled so earthy, just as she did. You didn’t even register the sound of the piano as you played it, just lost yourself in thoughts of her - her hair, the color of her eyes, the way she licked her lips, her hands tightening on her cane. Her fingers twitching around her fork on the dining table, her grip on your arm before you fell, her hand skimming down the small of your back—

Your finger slipped and hit a sour note and you winced, but before you could correct it, warm fingers were sliding over your own, nudging your middle finger to the key a half step down from the one you had hit. 

“Try this.” 

Your breath caught in your chest and suddenly the room seemed very, very small. When you realized that her hand was actually resting on the small of your back, that it wasn’t just in your imagination, your vision swam. You swallowed hard.

“I-I’m so sorry, Ms. Venable, I thought—” you started, your now-shaking hands sliding from the keys. 

“No.” 

Her voice was firm, and you flinched. 

“Do not apologize.” She tenderly took your hands and guided them back to the exact keys they had frozen on. You could feel her leaning down behind you, her breath tickling the back of your neck. She pressed gently on your hands, her fingers setting your skin on fire. “Try _this_.”

You pressed down on the keys, and the chord was haunting, beautiful. Venable sighed behind you, removing her hands from yours. You closed your eyes and took in the feeling of her breath on your neck, the earthy smell that surrounded her seeping into your senses. 

Suddenly, the notes began to wind their way back through your head, and you couldn’t stop your fingers if you had tried. She was too beautiful, the melody she had prompted too chilling not to put out into the world. You felt that if you didn’t get the sound out of your head you would combust. So you laid it all out, fingers gliding over the keys. You stuttered when her hand left the small of your back, and you closed your eyes when you saw her walk into your peripheral. If you kept looking at her, you’d never stop playing. 

The song came to a reasonable close, and you pulled your hands away from the piano, biting your bottom lip and staring at your lap. 

“Ms. Venable, I—“ 

She held up her hand. You fell silent. The fingers of her other hand were working the corner of the piano, and it suddenly occurred to you that she wasn’t holding her cane. That you hadn’t heard her come up behind you. 

You glanced around the room, but you didn’t see the cane anywhere. In fact, you didn’t see any sign of the bunker anywhere. No candles, no—

Your eyes landed on her. They widened. 

Her hair was down, curling in auburn heaps around her shoulders. She was dressed in all black, but her high-collar and pointed shoulder pads were gone. This dress was light, draped delicately across her form. It cut down in a deep “v” that almost touched her navel, and her sleeves tapered out at the ends and fell over her long, un-gloved fingers. 

She was softer, almost imperceptibly so, and had you not stolen each of those previous glances weeks before, had you not allowed your eyes to glide over the twitch of her lips or the crinkle at the corner of her eyes, you doubt you would have noticed it now. 

She was stunning. 

She was always gorgeous, domineering, full of confidence. But somehow, here, now, with her hair down and her lipstick gone, her natural beauty shone through in a way that was… supreme. It radiated off of her in waves, and when she offered you a soft smile and quirked her brow, your mouth went dry. 

“I’ll bet you have a few questions,” she chuckled, her fingers still rubbing over the piano. They drew your eyes and you had to fight to keep your mind from wandering. She cleared her throat softly and your eyes snapped back to hers. “I chose you for this role because I thought that I could trust you.” She paused, skimming her gaze down your form. When her eyes met yours again, there was a vulnerability there that surprised you. “_Can_ I trust you, Y/N?” 

You nodded carefully, swallowing down the dryness in your throat. Your head was reeling. This was not at all what you had expected. 

“I’m sure,” Venable said softly.

You started when you realized you had spoken aloud. She offered you her hand, smiling softly, and when you took it gingerly you were surprised at how warm and soft it was. Holding it here, in your palm, was so much different than having those slender fingers slide over yours on the piano. 

“Do you trust me…?” She ducked her head to meet your eyes, and before you knew what you were doing, you nodded. The smile she rewarded you with made your stomach flip. Oh, you would fight for that smile tooth, fist, and nail if you had to. She was pure radiance. 

A soft heat growing in your palm snapped your mind back to the present, and you looked up at Venable. She was staring intently at your hand, but she offered you a small glance. Her smile grew as she removed her hand. 

She bit into her bottom lip and you grinned, a flush creeping into your cheeks. You were staring. It was very obvious you were staring. But who wouldn’t stare into those eyes? 

She flicked her eyes down to your hand and nodded just so. As you went to rub your thumb over your fingers self-consciously, you felt something velvet-soft crinkle against your skin. You broke your eyes from Venable’s face. 

A soft, pristine, glowing flower sat snugly in the palm of your hand. The petals shimmered and reflected different colors in the light. You didn’t notice Venable scrutinizing you as you admired the flower. You didn’t notice her finger twitch almost imperceptibly. You were too busy looking at the perfect petals in your hand, that had just settled into a blush pink. Your favorite.

“Beautiful,” you breathed, looking up at Venable incredulously. “How…?”

She chuckled, walking over to you. Her hand came up below yours to cup the flower, her thumb tracing delicately over one of the petals. You tried not to shiver as it ghosted over your knuckle. 

“Here you will find that things are a little bit different than the rest of the Outpost. This is a sacred place. This is _my_ space. Here I can be who I am, without prying eyes. Without the drama of the greys and the purples. Without the constant decontamination and perimeter alerts.” She let out a soft sigh and turned to face the plants on the wall. “In this space, the world exists as it used to. There is no nuclear winter. There is no Cooperative. There is no pretense or charade or… shoulder pads.” She practically spat. She raked a hand through her curls, and you could have sworn you heard her sniff. “This is the last trace of life as we used to know it, and I am entrusting it’s safety and secrecy to you.”

She turned, and suddenly she had hardened back into the familiar Ms. Venable.

“Do _not_ disappoint me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Feel free to leave kudos or comments if you feel so inclined :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh this chapter was the bane of my existence. I literally had the entire fic planned out and ~most~ of it written, but I just could NOT get this chapter to come out of my brain in a coherent way. A few weeks of tinkering with it (and banging my head against a wall) and here we are! I finally got it where I needed it and I'm happy with how it turned out! (She's thicc, brace yourself!)
> 
> I hope that you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

You stood blinking at her, your brain working a mile a minute.

“Are you ready to get the tour?” Venable asked, her hand sliding down her arm and catching on her elbow. You cocked your head, taking her in. She looked so different this way, almost casual, and your brain was having trouble registering that this was the same Venable who had slapped one of the purples straight across the face. She seemed friendly here. She seemed relaxed. And for some unknown reason it made a flush bloom in your cheeks.

She cleared her throat softly. You made a mental note that this version of Venable did that when she wanted your attention. She wouldn’t demand it outright like the Venable you thought you knew.

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” you replied, taking a deep breath to clear your head. She smiled at you and your heart stuttered. It was a generous smile. Not a smirk. Not a twitch of her lips. And you realized in that moment that she had the most beautiful mouth you had ever seen in your life. _Utterly kissable, _your brain supplied, and you mentally berated yourself.

She straightened then, just so, and her smile morphed into pursed lips. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Come now.”

You got a quick tour of the living area, what to clean, what plants to water. It was overwhelming, but you were trying your best to make mental notes of everything. Dust twice a week. Water the chrysanthemums once a week until they bloom, then three times per. Spray bottle for the ferns. Don’t touch the butterflies.

“Follow me,” she said firmly, and you were still making lists as you tried to wrap your mind around this new Venable before you. Sometimes she was hard, sometimes she was soft, and she seemed to have no patience for each opposite disposition as she switched between the two. Her hands had been flitting around you as she went through each of the plants and their individual care cycles, but she had been strangely standoffish as she told you what items you were allowed to touch and which you were very strictly not. The book on the table, for example, was completely off-limits. That only made you more curious and you had glanced over at it, but then she had distracted you by telling you that you were allowed to play the piano whenever you wished. She dragged her fingers lazily over the keys as she passed by it, head tilting at the soft rush of sound.

You followed her quietly through the arch next to the piano and down a dimly-lit hallway. For the third of fourth time since you had arrived, you made a mental note of the sconces on the wall that stood where candles and torches should have. The only trace of the proper Outpost that you could find was a large fireplace, its mantle draped with ivy and heavy, waxy plants that spilled out of large planters. And yet somehow you had a feeling that the hearth was not part of the “traditional” Outpost at all. Somehow this one felt singular. Individual.

Venable led you down the hallway and past a room that she indicated was the bathroom. You were allowed to use it, but were never required to clean it. This caught your attention and you looked inside, catching a glimpse of white marble, black appliances, and a clawfoot tub that seemed much larger than necessary.

The sound of Venable’s footsteps receding brought your attention back to the hall and you rushed to keep up with her, silently finding your footing as you matched her pace, just a few steps behind. Your mind started wandering back to the bathtub, filling it with warm water, bubbles, and a pleased, flushed Venable. But a soft thud jarred your daydream and your eyes caught on the movement of Venable’s hand.

She had reached out and stroked her cane, propped casually against the stone wall of the corridor. You double-taked on it, eyes widening as you looked at her. Her back was to you as you followed her, though. All you saw was the side of a smirk as she turned her head back to the front.

She led you through a doorway at the end of the hall, which opened into a large bedroom with a lavish four-poster bed sat squarely in the center. It was draped in white and looked so plush you barely resisted the urge to touch it, sink into it. Venable glided around the room, opening the closet and indicating where the dirty laundry was kept and where the clean laundry should be replaced. Your eyes tracked her, still pre-occupied with the fact that she could walk so smoothly without her cane. The cane that you had grown so accustomed to listening for. The clacking that always made you fight a smile. The way she tapped it to emphasize her words, like it was more a part of her than her hands themselves.

“Any questions?” she asked, turning on you and folding her hands in front of her. Her fingers looked so pale against her black dress, and it occurred to you that until today you hadn’t seen them without gloves covering at least her knuckles.

Venable cleared her throat. You glanced up and she had softened again, but this time she seemed uncomfortable, like she was fighting it. You offered her a weak smile, folding your hands to mirror hers. She quirked a brow at you and you shook your head softly.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice wavering over her usually harsh tone. But then you realized that you hadn’t spoken and she hadn’t chastised you like she usually would have, and something inside of you relaxed.

“I actually do have one question, if that’s alright.”

She hummed in approval, shifting her weight and tilting her head just so.

You swallowed.

“You said that here you could be ‘who you are’.” She nodded, moving around the side of the bed. You watched her fingers trace one of the bedposts. “Who are you…?”

She hesitated then, looking down at the ground and licking her lips. “I don’t know,” she confessed softly. Her eyes flicked to something behind you and you turned. A small, filigree box sat alone on her dresser.

“It’s not important,” she said, and before you could get a good look at the box her arm was threading through yours and she was pulling you back out into the hallway. “We should be focusing on you at the moment.”

You almost tripped as you re-entered the large living space. “Me?”

She nodded, moving over to the book on the table and closing it. “Yes, you. You have a lot to learn, and we’re running out of time.”

~~~

“I’m sorry, Ms. Venable. I don’t understand what you want me to do.”

She sat across from you, hands folded on the table. “Precisely what I said. Think back on your past, on your life, and tell me if anything happened that you couldn’t explain.”

Your brows shot up and you shook your head. “This is all feeling very ‘Harry Potter’.”

She rolled her eyes and let out a long breath. “Honestly, could we forget those trivial books and focus on what I’m asking you to do?”

You scoffed. “Trivial?”

She blinked at you.

“The Harry Potter books are not trivial.”

Her head quirked to the side. “Hm. Agree to disagree.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and fighting a smile. She was softer now, and you were itching to find out just how far she would take it. “No. There’s no agreeing and disagreeing here. If you don’t like Harry Potter then I’m—“ You threw your arms dramatically in the air. “I’m resigning my post. Back to the laundry.” You moved to get up from your chair. “It really has been a pleasure but—“

Venable slammed her hand down on the table. “Enough! I’m asking you to do something extremely simple. We don’t have time for you to joke about fictional characters. Now start taking this seriously or get out.”

The growl that was threaded through her last sentence made you freeze, hands shaking as you turned back to face her and folded them in front of you.

Her eyes flicked to the chair. “Sit.”

She emphasized the word with a tap of her cane. You hadn’t realized she had grabbed it. A flush warmed your cheeks as you sat back down, and you told yourself it was because she was mad at you. Not because she had grabbed the cane _while she was mad at you_.

“Are you going to do as I asked? Or am I better served devoting my time and attention to the countless issues in this Outpost that I have set aside to focus on you?"

“I-I’m sorry…” You tried to fight it, but your voice still cracked.

“I can’t hear you.” Two taps of the cane.

“I’m sorry,” you tried again, louder this time. There was something in her eyes when you gathered the courage to meet them. Something… wicked.

“I’m sorry, _what_.” She bit into her bottom lip as her eyes raked over you, and you tried not to twitch under the gaze, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt to keep from shaking.

You swallowed. Spoke deliberately. “I’m sorry, Ms. Venable.”

She turned then, standing from her chair. You could have sworn you heard her mumble a soft “good girl”, but her back was to you and she was already pacing the long room.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath. It hadn’t occurred to you that you hadn’t inhaled since her dark eyes had landed on you. Not properly. And even now, with those two tiny words still echoing in your ears, it seemed nearly impossible to get oxygen through the pressure that was weaving into your chest.

The heavy silence that hung in the air was broken only by the tapping of her cane, each click fueling a heat that warmed your stomach and made your mouth go dry. You sat uncomfortably still, not sure if you should launch into the answer to her question or wait for her to address you. If you waited, would it only make her more upset? But if you spoke without being addressed…

She turned, hands resting neatly on her cane in front of her. “Let’s try this again, yes?”

You nodded.

“Think back.” Something twitched in her brow and you thought you saw her softening, felt the air lift and lighten _just so._

The new space forming between the thick particles of air made it easier to breathe, and you closed your eyes. Tried to focus. Tried to remember something, anything, out of the ordinary from your childhood. Unfortunately for you, everything that you could remember had been perfectly mundane. A normal childhood for a normal girl. The best you could come up with was the time in second grade when Megan had pulled your hair and you had punched her. But that wasn’t… unusual. You had been taken to the principle’s office and sent home for the day. Just like any other child would.

You shook your head softly, brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, Ms. Venable, but as far as I can remember, my childhood was completely normal. Nothing extraordinary has ever really happened to me.”

When you looked up, she was standing across the table, hands braced on the wood as her eyes searched yours. “You’re sure?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to be special. You wanted to live up to what she seemed to see in you. But you couldn’t. You didn’t. There was nothing except a plain, young girl who just happened to be in the right place at the right time to be saved during the apocalypse.

When you didn’t answer she clicked her tongue, grabbing her cane from where it was leaning against the table and turning to walk down the hall. “You may play the piano, if you wish. If not, you are dismissed for the day and may return to your room.”

Something about the way she spoke to you as she was walking away, how she didn’t even bother to turn and glance at you over her shoulder, made your heart splinter. An ache settled there, and you decided without much thought that you would slide your fingers over those familiar rough keys, just for a moment. Just to ease the frustration and shame that were starting to swim through your veins.

Before you knew it you were sat at the piano, your fingers gliding over ivory and playing the first song that came to your head. One that you had played during a college audition, you remembered fondly. You were honestly shocked that you remembered it after all this time. It was a sonata, soft and flowing in a precarious six over four time that always had a way of clearing your head. You thought back to the rain on that audition day, pattering the ceiling of the performance hall as your fingers danced over the song for the three judges that sat adjacent to you. Remembered the woman in the middle smiling. Remembered the way the air had smelt of honey and dew and light. It had been…

A hand on your shoulder broke your reverie.

“I’d say that’s pretty extraordinary,” Venable whispered in your ear. You glanced at her, her chin nearly resting on your shoulder, before following her gaze. A haze of gold and ice hung a foot below the ceiling, swirling and undulating.

You raised a questioning brow as you looked back at her, but she paid you no attention, a smile flickering across her lips as she watched the mist. “Continue.”

The word nudged you out of your daze and you found your voice. “Is that… Did you…?”

She shook her head, her eyes flicking over to yours. She nodded to the piano. “Continue. And watch.”

You picked up at the second movement, right at the key change, and let your fingers adjust to the new pacing before looking up. Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t gold anymore. It was pink. Blush and shimmering, all traces of ice replaced with rose petals that sparkled in the dim light.

“I-I don’t,” you started softly, careful not to stop playing. You didn’t want it to end, didn’t want the petals to stop dancing. “How are you…”

Venable shook her head next to yours, hair brushing your shoulder as a smile stretched across her face. “That’s not me, darling. That magic is _all _yours.”

You gasped, at the pet name or the mention of magic, you didn’t know. Your fingers froze and the sparkling dust vanished, petals falling through the air and dissolving before they hit the ground. Suddenly the world felt entirely too cold and you withdrew your hands from the hot keys before they could burn you.

“I don’t understand,” you said slowly, leaning back to look Venable in the eye. She scanned your face, her smile softening.

“This is what I was asking you,” she said, her voice gentle. “This is what I meant.”

You shook your head, trying to clear it as a million questions tried to cram their way into your brain. “But… This…” You gestured to the ceiling. “That’s never happened before. I don’t know what that was but I’ve never… That’s never happened before.”

She straightened then, one hand on her cane as the other stroked the piano. “Would you have noticed if it had?” Her brow quirked.

“I—“ You looked around the room, trying to grasp at sentences, trying to form a coherent thought, trying to understand what the hell she was talking about. “N-No, but someone else would have. Right? I mean, how could they miss something like that?”

She chuckled softly. “How did _you _miss it? If you don’t know what you’re looking for… It’s easy to look past what you don’t understand.”

Your heart was pounding now, some part of you vibrating from the inside out. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. You were obviously having some sort of hallucinatory dream and any minute now you would wake up and be back in the laundry room, tormented and jeered at and _normal._

“I’m dreaming,” you whispered, rubbing at your temple.

“No, you’re not.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you whipped your head up to look at Venable. “Yes. I am. I have to be. Because all of this—“ you gestured wildly, “This can’t be real. You can’t be telling me that— that _magic_ is real because… I just…”

You groaned as your head throbbed.

“How else do you explain this?” she asked calmly, crossing her arms.

Your brain was grasping for something, anything to make this logical. To make this rational. “I-I don’t know,” you tried, looking frantically around the room. “It’s— There’s a nuclear winter outside. It’s the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe something with the air caused—“

She shook her head. “No.”

“But I just—“ You dropped your head in your hands, fighting the unjustified urge to cry. “This can’t be real…”

There was a soft tap, presumably Venable leaning her cane against the piano, and then her fingers were combing through your hair, skimming over your braid. You could feel her standing before you, the hem of her dress brushing against your knees. She hummed, and you heard the rustle of fabric as she knelt down. After you managed a few shaky breaths, she ran her thumb over your cheek and cupped your jaw, lifting your eyes to hers.

“Magic _is _real, darling,” she said softly, almost a whisper. Your breath hitched at the pet name, again, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “It is powerful and it is alive and it is inside of you. It builds you up, forms who you are. And that makes you special.”

You shook your head softly, but she caught your chin between her finger and thumb. She held you there for a moment, eyes locked on yours. And when a hot tear fell onto your cheek, her thumb was right there, swiping it away.

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes searching yours. “Magic is real. Magic is inside of you. And magic—“ she pulled back slightly, cupping your face in both of her hands and staring at you with a soft intensity that made white hot fire shoot from your fingers to your toes. “Magic is what brought you to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhkay, so I wanted to keep going and add more to this chapter, but then I realized it was already like 3000 words, so we're just going to have to wait for the next one :) 
> 
> I'm so glad that you all liked the first chapter! Hopefully you liked this one, too! Feel free to leave comments and/or kudos! They ALWAYS make my day!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just going to pretend this chapter isn't 6500 words... Shhh...
> 
> Seriously though, it's long so brace yourself! 
> 
> Thank you for all of the love you've given this fic so far and for sticking with this story!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! :)

You had forgotten how dark the rest of the Outpost was.

Venable’s room was consistently lit, and even though it wasn’t as bright as sunlight streaming through windows, it was still an improvement to the candlelight.

You had spent almost two whole days with her there. Or at least you thought it had been almost two days. Neither of you had left for meals, rather sat across from each other at that giant wooden table, her explaining everything to you and you trying desperately to find the space in your brain to comprehend it. It was almost too much to understand, but her hand occasionally covering yours and her fingers tracing the grain of the table kept you grounded and kept you sane.

By the end of it you had learned enough about witches that you could have majored in it. When she had initially said the word you had jumped, your brain going fuzzy. But then you found the wherewithal to make another Harry Potter joke, she smirked and shook her head, and somehow you had accepted it as fact. The honest truth of it all was that the world had ended and you were living in a bunker where the inhabitants were separated and ranked like some best-seller bullshit. You didn’t really have the ability to reject something this big. Especially not something that you had seen with your own eyes.

And so here you were, walking down the dimly-lit hallway, trying your best to process everything. It was almost torture, her telling you to go back to your room and get some rest after dropping that big of a bomb on your reality. But as you reached your room, pulled your braid out, and crawled into your small, hard bed, you found yourself smiling at the realization that you would see her again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

~~~

The morning came too soon, and it wasn’t until you heard the tapping of a cane outside your door that you realized you had overslept and missed breakfast. You scrambled out of bed, raking your fingers through your hair and trying to pull it into something that passed as a braid when there was a soft knock at your door. There were no locks in Outpost Three, and before you could answer the knob was turning and Venable’s voice filled the space.

“Y/N? May I come in?”

Your heart pounded in your chest and you were already breathless when you replied, “Of course, Ms. Venable.” Your hands smoothed over your sleep-wrinkled dress, braid half-done and abandoned on your shoulder.

She entered quietly, almost gliding as she turned around and shut the door behind her. When she faced you, goosebumps ripped out over your skin.

She was wearing the same outfit she had worn on your first day at the Outpost, however many weeks ago. Her frilled collar brushed against her jaw as she looked you up and down, shoulder pads accentuating the slight unevenness of her posture as she crossed her ankles and leaned on her cane with such swagger that your mouth went dry. Your eyes darted to her belt, cinching her waist and giving her the most glorious hourglass figure you had ever seen, but then she spoke and your eyes found her face.

“Are you alright? You missed breakfast.”

You nodded. “Yes, Ms. Venable,” you responded, speaking softly to elicit whatever sympathy you could from her. “I apologize. I overslept. I-I don’t know what happened. I must have been a little overwhelmed from… everything that happened the other day.”

Somehow you didn’t feel safe discussing anything here. It was your room, true, but you felt exposed, like anyone could be listening on the other end of the door. And with her here, in her usual attire, hair done up and cane gripped in one hand, it was almost like the time spent in her room had been another world. Another reality that your brain had conjured up to help you cope with all of the nonsense that was the apocalypse.

She took a step towards you, tilting her head as she shifted her weight. You thought you saw her mouth twitch into a smile, but in the flickering candlelight you couldn’t be sure. If she had, it was gone as quickly as it had come.

She was still staring at you, though, and you swallowed as you ran your hands over your dress again to smooth it out. “Did you need me for something, Ms. Venable?”

That seemed to snap her out of whatever she was thinking and she cleared her throat. “We have new arrivals today. As you are in my personal charge, you will accompany me. Understood?”

“Oh,” you started, blinking in confusion. “New arrivals. Right.” You chastised yourself for hoping she would ask you back to her room, for wanting to continue your lessons. This was still the bunker and you still had a job to do. And you were still a grey. “Um, just give me a minute to finish getting ready and I’ll be right there.”

You looked around your room for a moment, not really sure for what, before you tugged at the bottom of your dress, straightening it and reaching to finish your braid. Before you could, though, Venable was propping her cane against the side of your bed and walking behind you, her fingers combing through your mangled hair as she separated it into three sections. She was nimble, almost delicate, weaving it back into a singular plait. You forced yourself to stand incredibly still, not to lean into her, not to melt under the warmth of her fingers.

You resolved yourself to focusing on her cane. The long stem, the intricate handle. The way it was leaning against your bed. How casual it looked there. How natural. How you wished you would wake to it propped against the side of the mattress, Venable warm and soft and curled around you.

A final tug and she was finished, pulling the bottom of the braid into a knot. She made a small satisfied sound in the back of her throat, running her hands lightly over your shoulders, and then she was walking back to her cane.

“Change into something presentable, please,” she said, turning back to you and resting both hands on top of her cane.

You glanced down, all of your efforts doing nothing to smooth the wrinkles in your dress. Somehow it seemed to have made it worse.

“Now, Y/N. We don’t have all day.”

Your brow shot up as you processed what she was implying.

“N-Now? In front of…?”

She shifted her cane to one hand, leaning on it and quirking a brow impatiently.

“I sincerely hope you are not going to make me ask you again.”

You swallowed, nodding and rushing to your small drawers. You dug through them for a second, pulling a freshly pressed dress out and unfolding it before you laid it out on your bed. A quick glance at Venable, and then you reached behind your back, pulling your zipper down slowly.

You avoided her gaze at first, the heat of it burning into your cheeks. But after a moment of awkwardness, the realization hit you that she was still standing in front of you. She had asked you to change. She had demanded you do it now. With her in the room. At that you lifted your eyes, holding her gaze as you slipped your dress off of your shoulders. It fell in a heap on the floor and you bit your lip, watching her closely.

Her face was schooled, full, hard Venable. But you had watched her enough that you noticed. You noticed her shoulders rise with the slight hitch of her breath. You watched her fingers tighten around the top of her cane. You saw the slight tap of her toes before her throat bobbed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

You bit down on a smirk, smoothing your hands over your thin slip. You straightened the straps and grabbed your dress off of your bed, unzipping the back and stepping into it. As you pulled it up over your slip, careful not to let it bunch underneath, Venable walked behind you, her cane tapping against the stone floor and fracturing the frozen silence.

You got the dress up over your shoulders, tugging the sleeves down, and then her hand was on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting in the fabric there for a split second before they found the zipper and pulled it up. Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the small touch, the closeness for the second time so early in the morning. You gripped your skirt as her breath tickled the back of your neck. You were growing too used to it.

“You take too long to get dressed,” she whispered, her nose brushing your ear. She exhaled and you froze, heart jumping into your throat. It wasn't her nose. It was her lips. Right behind your ear.

A soft hum and then her warmth was gone. You hadn’t realized how close she had been standing.

By the time you had caught your breath she was pulling your door open and walking out into the hallway.

“Follow me.”

~~~

It was awful. It was horrible and awful and you wished you hadn’t come.

You had followed Venable down the long hallway into the decontamination room after you lit the candle in her hand, standing just behind her as the doors opened on the new arrivals and she introduced herself. You had asked her who was arriving, purples or greys, but she hadn’t answered. Watching them now, though, you realized they were all purples.

There was something about the way they walked, stood, glanced at each other. They already felt superior to everyone around them. It radiated off of them like the stench of a dead animal. And when one of them raised their hand and interrupted Venable mid-speech, when she threw them daggers and a sickened expression crossed her face, you were absolutely positive they would be dressed in plum and lavender by the end of the day.

That wasn’t the bad part, though. The bad part was watching them get scrubbed down.

Meade was ruthless with her broom, and the woman with her was spraying them in the face more than anything. Venable seemed to be taking too much pleasure in watching the new arrivals sputter, watching them scream and writhe and cry.

It wasn’t watching the purples in pain that made you sick to your stomach. It was watching Venable like it. Watching her eyes light up as her hands played across the top of her cane. It was… sadistic.

You sniffed, clearing your throat and squirming. She glanced over at you, tongue in her cheek, and when her eyes met yours she gave you a disapproving look that made your heart sink. You averted your gaze, focusing your attention back on the whimpering purples.

You remembered your first day, being forced to strip down in front of the other greys who had arrived with you. Getting down on your hands and knees. Being kicked down flat onto your stomach, your cheek hitting the cold, hard stone. Wishing you would drown as the water pounded against your face. The only saving grace, the only good thing that had come from it, was the fact that Venable hadn’t been there. It was only Meade and the other woman, and it almost seemed like they had taken pity on you, given what they were doing to these purples.

They were all screaming, some of the men howling or even crying. And then there was one. One woman who was smirking up at Venable as Meade raked the broom over her back. She was moaning, crying out, gasping and panting. And Venable’s eyes were locked on her.

Her sounds soon filled the room, so loud that even the other purples fell silent. A few more scrubs and Meade stopped, the purple letting out a final sigh that sounded more like an orgasm than anything.

Your eyes were narrowed as you watched her, watched Venable. But when Venable set her jaw and flicked her brow up at the girl, you averted your gaze again.

Silence filled the room as Meade retreated to the edge of the space. Her helper walked slowly between the new residents, stepping over some of them and passing out clean clothes. They were simple frocks, the same you had been given. The lavish costumes would be waiting for them in their rooms.

“Get up,” Venable said loudly, hitting her cane on the floor. “Get dressed.”

They scrambled, and you couldn’t help your brows raising in amusement. Stars, she was powerful. She could make anyone do anything with one word, one tap of her cane. And she had chosen you. It was hard not to straighten up at the thought, not to smile.

“You three will follow Ms. Meade,” Venable started as they pulled their clothes back on, indicating to a group of purples clustered together. “You four,” she indicated to the four nearest the door, “will follow Ms. Jenson. And you,” she tapped her cane, tilting it towards the loud purple that had kept her attention so well, “will follow me.”

You let out a soft laugh but caught it between your teeth as Venable whipped her head around, eyes boring into you. You bowed your head. She walked over to you and you braced yourself for her scolding tone, but then she was walking past you and pressing the keypad on the wall to open the door.

“Come.”

~~~

You followed Venable through the Outpost, a half-step behind as she led the purple to her room. She explained everything as she walked, slowly, deliberately. The purple kept pushing up on you, though, walking too close to you and then falling back, closing the space and falling back again. A couple of times she clipped your shoe with her foot, and you had to force yourself to stay focused, to keep your gaze forward and refrain from turning around and telling her off. By the time you had reached her room, your hands were balled into fists.

“…will find all of your clothing in the closet to the right. We dress for dinner.”

When Venable stopped, the purple took the opportunity and practically skipped around you to squeeze herself between Venable and the wall.

“Are my clothes as nice as yours?” she asked, her voice entirely too perky for someone who had just been scrubbed naked with a broom. “Because yours sure do look nice.”

Venable’s finger tapped the top of her cane, and you had no idea how to read it because, as you realized in that moment, you had never seen her do that before. It made you itch.

“I’m Jessica, by the way,” she said when Venable didn’t answer. “Can I call you Wilhemina?”

Venable flinched, her mouth twitching around words you knew she was fighting to keep in. She swallowed and you fought the urge to step closer to her.

“You will refer to me _only _as Ms. Venable. Is that clear?”

The purple giggled. “I guess, _Ms. Venable_.”

You were watching her closely, and when her eyes narrowed you honestly thought she might snap and choke the girl right then and there. But in true Venable fashion, she composed herself in the blink of an eye.

“One last thing,” she started slowly, tapping her cane. “There is no copulation of any kind. For the safety of this Outpost, this rule is _strictly_ enforced.”

It was clear that Jessica thought she was kidding, but after a second spent squirming under Venable’s unwavering, haughty gaze, she let out a small laugh. “You’re joking, right…?”

Another tap of the cane. Jessica flinched. “There used to be forty-three residents in this outpost. Now there are only twenty-eight. The world gets rather dark and rather small within these stone walls, and I do not tolerate disobedience of _any_ kind. So I suggest you control your menial urges and focus on what matters.”

Jessica gaped up at her. “And what’s that?”

When Venable spoke, it came out toxic. “Surviving.”

She turned to you, gesturing down the hall with her cane, and then the two of you were walking away, Venable following behind you. When you had turned the corner and were halfway down the next hallway, she leaned forward, mouth against your ear.

“My room. Now.”

~~~

The heavy metal door banged shut behind you and you flinched.

She walked around you, practically slamming her cane down on the wooden table before whirling on you.

“You do realize that this is my job, yes?” she spat. You blinked at her, trying to catch up to where she was and understand what the hell was happening.

“Y-Yes, Ms. Venable,” you replied, folding your hands in front of you and trying to look as submissive as possible.

“And you do understand that this is what has to be done with every new arrival, yes?” Her chest was heaving and there was a fire in her eyes that made your heart pound in anticipation.

“Yes, of course. But—“

“Then why were you looking at me like you despised me?” Her voice cracked, and she smacked her hand on the table to cover it.

Shock washed over you and you stuttered, blinking against the realization that you weren’t in trouble. That she wasn’t angry. She was hurt.

“I— Ms. Venable, I didn’t— I wasn’t…”

She set her jaw and her nostrils flared. A thick swallow and hard blink, and you realized that she was trying not to cry. Oh gosh. Oh gosh, no. You hadn’t meant for this to happen.

“Ms. Venable, please,” you tried, walking over to her and reaching out. You stopped before you touched her, dropping your hand. “Please, I never meant…”

“Do you think I _like _watching them suffer?”

Something inside of you rebelled, pushing back against her tone. “I don’t know,” you snapped, “You certainly looked like you were enjoying it. What was I supposed to think?”

Her mouth dropped open in a hard laugh, and you flinched. “So just because I behaved professionally and asserted my authority, I’m automatically a sadist?”

“You didn’t have to laugh at their pain,” you started, straightening.

“I wasn’t laughing,” she scolded, and you crossed your arms at the harsh underbelly of her voice.

“You think I’m an idiot,” you countered. “You think I don’t pay attention. But I can tell when you’re biting down on a smile. I can tell when you’re covering a laugh. And I can sure as hell tell when you’re enjoying something.”

You were practically panting now, eyes boring into hers and daring her to respond. It was probably going to get you into a lot of trouble later, but you refused to let her make you feel bad about taking pity on someone.

She swallowed, her jaw twitching. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“Listen, I— what…?”

She cleared her throat. “I don’t think that you are an idiot. Please do not put words in my mouth.”

You gaped at her for a moment, heart slowing and the itch of anger fading from the tips of your fingers. “I-I’m sorry, Ms. Venable. I’m so sorry.” You shook your head softly, brow furrowing.

When she didn’t respond you looked up. She was pinching the bridge of her nose. A long sigh, and then she sat at the table, shifting herself in the chair and wincing lightly. You were on her in a second, holding out your hand so she could use it as support. She didn’t take the offer, though, waving you off.

You thought you heard her sniff, and you wanted to touch her, to rub her back, soothe her in some way. But you felt too guilty, you were too nervous, you didn’t want her to snap. So you offered the only thing you could think of.

“Would you like me to play something for you…?”

She looked up at you then, her brows raising as something close to a smile softened her features. “That would be nice.”

A few steps to the piano and you were sitting down. “Any preferences?” you asked, curious to know if she had a certain taste in music. Curious what she liked to listen to when she was upset. “A genre? A song? I might not be able to get it perfect, but I can always try to figure something out.”

She chuckled softly, her fingers rubbing at her temple. “I’m not picky. Classical, jazz. I’m sure I’ll like anything you play.”

“Well at least you’re not vague,” you drawled, cracking your knuckles.

She laughed then. Really truly laughed. It was loud and long and bright, and you couldn’t help but beam at her, the sound lighting you up from the inside out. It wasn’t something you had even considered, Venable laughing. The most you thought you would ever get was a hearty chuckle. But the sound of her laugh… You had a feeling you would be dreaming about it for months.

Before you knew what you were doing you had started playing Billy Joel, the first song you could think of pouring off your fingers and filling the room. You added some flourishes here and there, but kept it relatively simple, trying to pull each of the chord progressions from muscle memory.

Venable leaned on the table, sighing a few times and closing her eyes.

When the song was over her brow furrowed, so you quickly picked back up and started another one, this one warmer, silkier than the first. A soft smile played over her lips when she recognized it, and on the second verse you thought you heard her humming along.

You didn’t dare stop after that song, noting how relaxed Venable looked as she swayed to the music in her seat. Instead you morphed it straight into another, and her smile grew at the rush of triplets and change in time signature at the beginning.

You did stop after that song, though, because she was rubbing at her temple again.

“Are you alright?” you asked quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

She smiled, opening her eyes. They almost looked brighter, light bouncing off of them. “Perfectly alright. Although I am rather tired. I think I might go lay down. Will you go in my place for dinner?”

You nodded quickly, standing from the piano bench. “Of course. Would you like me to help you into bed?”

She shook her head, but when you walked over to her and offered her your hand to help her stand, she took it, her fingers gripping around yours firmly. As soon as her feet hit the floor she released you, walking slowly past the piano and disappearing through the archway.

In a split second you made the decision to follow her, not willing to abandon her when she seemed so… _off_.

By the time you had entered her room she was turning down her bed. She glanced at you over her shoulder.

“You don’t need to help me, I know you have had a long day. You should go down to dinner and enjoy yourself.”

You thought absently that you wouldn’t enjoy your dinner without her there, but you shook it off. “Can I at least help you out of those clothes? You deserve to be comfortable.”

She quirked her brow at you, fluffing her pillow. “Is that the offer I think it is?”

You bit down on a grin. “I’m just saying, I am in your _personal charge_. As your grey, isn’t it my duty to help you dress and undress? Isn’t that what the other attending greys do?”

She seemed to pause, to think for a moment. Like that had never occurred to her. After a long while, she nodded.

“Alright. My nightclothes are in the top drawer of my dresser. Please lay them on the bed.”

You nodded, something warm spreading through your chest at the thought that she was letting you help her. Letting you in.

You pulled a pair of pajamas from the dresser drawer, shocked to find only silk sets of pants and button-down shirts. Most of them were purple, and you chose a lavender set. As you closed the drawer, though, your eyes caught on something gold atop the dresser. It was that little box. The one she had glanced at your first night here.

Curiosity almost got the better of you, but then you heard the rustle of sheets behind you and you realized you couldn’t blatantly grab it in front of her. So you turned, your mind starting to reel as you placed her pajamas on the bed.

She walked over to you as you smoothed out the silk, humming in approval. “Thank you.”

You nodded, folding your hands in front of you. “What else would you like me to do, Ms. Venable?” You phrased the question carefully, avoiding the words ‘anything else’ or giving her the chance to turn you away or deny your help.

She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes, and then she turned, her back to you. She gestured over her shoulder. “You can unzip my dress. Careful, it gets stuck at the seam.”

Your breath stuttered at the request, for two distinct reasons.

The first was that she was letting you undress her. Letting you pull down her zipper, pull down her pretenses, her thick outfits, her defense. She would be bare and vulnerable before you. And she was _letting_ it happen.

The second was something you wished wouldn’t have mattered. Wouldn’t have come to your mind. Wouldn’t have made you hesitate. But you had heard so many stories of her disability, whispered through the halls after she had gone, passed around on paper when no one thought she was looking. According to everyone, she had a gruesome back. Disgusting. Revolting. Some people said she walked with a cane because she had been run over as a child. Some said it was because she had been kidnapped and experimented on. Others said she was born broken, her shame growing with her disfigurement with every year that passed.

You weren’t sure you believed any of them, and you hated everyone for spreading those words, even if they were true. But now, with your fingers trembling over the clasp of her zipper, your blood pounded in anticipation of what you would find under the black fabric that covered her so fully.

Venable cleared her throat and you flushed, ashamed that you were making her wait, that you seemed hesitant. If the speculations were correct, you would hate for her to think that you were afraid of her.

Taking a quiet breath, you pulled the zipper down, not wanting to look but unable to look away. You did it slowly at first, but when your eyes caught skin, you practically ripped it down, pulling it straight past the seam. Her dress gaped open, her back completely exposed. And it was….

Perfect.

There was nothing. No scars, no bruises, no deformities of any kind. She had dark freckles that formed constellations on her skin, but that was it. Her pale back was flawless, her skin almost glowing against the dark fabric of her dress.

You reached out to touch it, to trail your fingers over the perfection that was _her_, but she turned and you quickly folded your hands in front of you.

“That will be all for tonight,” Venable said, reaching for her nightclothes on the bed. She folded the shirt in her hands, glancing up at you. “Thank you.”

You nodded, swallowing the words you wanted to say. The small utterances of gorgeous, beautiful, lovely, exquisite. You settled instead for a soft, “of course, Ms. Venable,” and then you were turning, cheeks flushed as you exited the room.

You walked past the piano, running your thumb absently over the corner as you passed it, your mind stuck in a loop of unzipping her dress and exposing her perfect back, over and over and over.

It was confusion mostly, mixed with frustration that people would spread those rumors, spread those horrific lies, put her down in that way. And that you couldn’t say anything to defend her. Because it wasn’t your place, and because she would probably have your head if you did.

That was intimate, what she had just let you do. Yes, most greys did it every night with their attending purples, but everyone knew that Venable was different, and no one more than you. She had trusted you, in the safety of her room, her sanctuary. And you would die a hundred times over before you betrayed her trust.

~~~

“Does she eat with us?” one of the new purples asked, taking a sip of their wine.

Your mind had still been running over the moment from Venable’s bedroom, the freckled patterns on her back seared into your mind and making your lips tingle. You had sat at the table next to Venable’s empty chair, mindlessly picking at your food until the conversation had shifted to the missing woman. That snapped your attention back quicker than it should have.

“Sometimes,” one of the greys answered. “Sometimes she’s too busy or whatever. I don’t know, she probably sits in her room and eats steak and lobster while we’re stuck here eating this mush.”

Your eyes narrowed as she threw you a look, but then Jessica was butting into the conversation. “Aren’t you a servant? Why are you talking?”

The grey turned on her. “That’s not how it works here, dipshit. Not at dinner. I’m allowed to sit with you, I’m allowed to talk to you. Just because my daddy didn’t pay billions of dollars for a ticket doesn’t mean I’m not human.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “I see someone’s sitting on a pretty high horse for scrubbing toilets all day.”

The purples laughed and Jessica looked smug. And then she focused her attention on you. “So where is she?”

You raised your eyebrows unamusedly at her. “Where’s who?”

“Wilhemina,” she started, and your fingers clenched around your silverware. A few of the purples gasped.

“You’re not allowed to call her that,” you started, blood rushing to your face. 

She laughed and it was too loud, her head thrown back dramatically. “Says who?”

“Says Ms. Venable,” you growled. You were trying to ignore her tone, but your knuckles had gone white on your fork.

“So?” Jessica continued, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “She’s not here. Why does it even matter?”

You stood then, pushing your chair out behind you. “It’s a matter of respect, you ungrateful asshole. She’s in charge, she’s keeping you safe, she’s devoting her time and energy to your wellbeing. The absolute least you can do is call her by her proper name and grant her a sliver of the respect she deserves.”

Jessica quirked a brow at you and smacked her tongue against her teeth. She knew she had gotten under your skin, and she had won. You sat down, releasing your grip on your silverware. You tried to take a discreet deep breath to calm yourself. It wasn’t your place, you kept telling yourself. It wasn’t your place to defend her. She wasn’t yours.

“Why’s she so mean, anyway?” another purple asked, and one of the greys laughed.

“Probably because she’s so fucked up,” he responded, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth. “Mentally and physically.”

“Oh, is that why she walks with that cane?” a tall purple asked, one of the ones who had been crying this morning, you noted.

“Yeah, probably. She was born fucked,” an older purple supplied, wiping her mouth. “Came out of the womb like that, and no one has loved her since.”

Blood rushed back to your ears, pounding into your head.

“I bet she was one of those kids that no one held. That’s why she never smiles.”

Your fingers twitched.

“No, I heard that her parents used to beat her. I guess I kind of feel bad for her?”

You sniffed, trying to clear your head. Your vision was going red and blurry around the edges.

“Don’t. She deserved it. I mean, scrubbing us down? Not letting us fuck? Who does she think she is?”

Your heart sat high in your throat, pounding so fast you thought it might suffocate you.

“I don’t know, she scares me, but also, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole. Not with the monstrosity that she hides under those ridiculous outfits.”

Your lungs squeezed and your feet went numb, tears pricking your eyes.

“Ew god, fuck no. Could you imagine? She was never loved and never touched, and she deserves to never be touched again, the fucking bitch.”

Something snapped inside of you and you slammed your hands on the table. You barely managed to scream “Would you all just shut the fuck up?!” before your vision swam and the world went black.

~~~

You woke in a plush bed, head pounding and ears ringing. You blinked the grogginess out of your eyes as you took in the room around you, trying to get your bearings.

You were tucked into a white comforter, pillows propping your head up higher than it should have been. Everything was too bright, white sheets draped above you and the earthy smell of plants and dirt filling your nose. There was a vanity across from you, sat next to a dresser with a little gold box on top.

And Wilhemina Venable was pacing at the foot of the bed, thumbnail between her teeth as her silk pajamas fluttered around her.

_You were in her bed_.

You skimmed your fingers over the soft cotton, watching her for a moment before you dared break the silence. Her guard was down, she had no idea you were watching her. And you were amazed at how differently she moved. You thought you had her pinned, knew what each tilt of her head and shift of her shoulders meant. But here, now… She looked _conventional_. Her hips swayed, her arms fidgeted, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. And it was stunning.

You didn’t want to break the silence, didn’t want to interrupt this domestic version of the woman you thought you knew. But part of you was itching to find out if she would keep her guard down if she knew you were watching.

“What happened?” you tried, and your voice came out gravelly.

Her head whipped around and relief flooded her features. She was by your side in a second, her hands hovering above you, around you. But she didn’t touch you. And she didn’t put up her shell.

“Are you alright?” she asked quickly, her brows pulled up. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked a few more times, noting how long her hair was. How blonde it looked. It was curling perfectly around her face, almost brushing against the sheets as she leaned over you. She looked like an angel. You reached up to touch her, to twist her curls between your fingers. You couldn’t help yourself, the throbbing at the base of your neck barring all rational thought. She caught your fingers midway, though, stroking her thumb over the back of your hand and smoothing it down onto the bed.

“Slow down,” she said gently, smiling softly at you. You grinned at her, at this gorgeous, secret version of her, and all you could think was _kiss her kiss her kiss her_. But then pieces from dinner started coming back to you. Your heart sank and you frowned.

“What happened, Ms. Venable?”

Her lips twisted into a grimace and she stiffened, and there it was. Her guard was up and suddenly she was an entirely different person. Still soft, but somehow so, so hard. She patted your hand, pulling away. “You don’t remember anything?”

You shook your head. “I remember bits and pieces, but… then it all went black and I…”

“Can you tell me what you remember?”

You bit into your lip. Maybe this version of Venable could take it, but somewhere beneath it was that delicate, unguarded woman. And you couldn’t break that version of her by telling her the truth.

“I remember the purples were being idiots, so were the greys. I got angry, and…. And then I woke up here.”

“What were they saying?”

You hesitated. Lied. “I- I don’t remember…"

She studied you for a moment, eyes narrowing. Her jaw twitched and then she was pacing, her gaze dropping to the floor. You watched her quietly, squirming with every footfall. After what seemed like years she stopped, looking up at you with concern.

“You blew out the candles. Shattered the wine glasses. Plates went flying, and then you collapsed. Meade saw the whole thing. She picked you up off the floor and brought you here. Apparently everyone is pretty shaken up.”

You thought for a moment that you were glad. That they deserved it, after what they said about Venable. But when you met her eyes you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Small. You had lost control and now she had a mess to clean up. Because of you.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Venable,” you mumbled, sniffing against tears. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t disappoint me. You could never—” She cleared her throat. “I should have seen this coming. You are progressing far quicker than I expected, and you could have seriously hurt someone. You could have hurt yourself.” She paused, her thumb running over her knuckles. “This just means we’re going to have to spend more time with your lessons. Tomorrow you will have the day off. I want you to spend it here, in my room, and try to channel that energy. Try to see if you can find that spark again and mold it to your will.”

You nodded, watching her carefully. She looked like she was fighting with herself, one hand tapping impatiently on her leg, the other balled into a tight fist. She wasn’t looking at you, shaking her head as the gears turned behind her eyes. And then as quickly as the uncertainty had come, a decision was made. She leaned forward abruptly, her hand covering your foot.

“I want you to sleep here tonight, alright? Relax and try to get some good rest. It’ll probably come easier here than it does in that plank of a bed you have. And this way you won’t be disturbed.”

Your eyes widened, brain instantly skipping to her crawling in bed with you, letting you curl up against her, her fingers in your hair again. But then—

“I’ll be tending to the plants if you need me. Just outside.” She smiled, her lip twitching. “Try to get some sleep. Everything is going to be alright.”

You couldn’t tell if she was talking to you or to herself. She patted your foot with a soft “goodnight”, and all you could do was nod as she turned and walked out into the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

A few long breaths and you were falling into a deep sleep, the smell of her on the sheets warming you and pulling you into dreams of forests and freckles and magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments and kudos are making my days/weeks/life, thank you thank you THANK YOU for every single one!! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter!! There's still a lot more to come, and it's going to get even twistier, so buckle up!! 
> 
> And feel free to follow me on Tumblr @grilledcheeseandguavajelly for (probably too much) AHS content and Venable gushing!! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, it's December already?! Where has the time gone? I can't believe I started writing this over a month ago? Thank you for sticking with it, dear readers!! I don't know where I would be without each and every one of you. 
> 
> Please don't eat me alive for this chapter!! I hope you enjoy it! :)

Water poured over your hands as you scrubbed the dishes clean. The soap was warm where it bubbled on your skin. It made you desperate for a bath. You had been standing almost all day, ironing, darning, washing, steaming. It was exhausting. You mulled over Venable’s instructions in your head as you rolled the tension out of your shoulders.

_Focus on the mundane. Let your mind clear. Breathe deeply. Don’t fight it._

There had been a moment during the ironing when you felt something start to stir, but as soon as you noticed it and tried to prompt it forward, it extinguished. You hadn’t been able to rekindle the flame.

You tilted your head, groaning as the muscles in your neck pulled taught. Your fingernails were going soft from the warm water, and you put down the soapy pot to inspect them.

“I didn’t give you the day off to twiddle your thumbs.”

You smothered a smile at the voice behind you, trying to ignore the goosebumps that broke out over your arms. You heard the door close, and then the rhythmic tapping of her cane as she approached. Something told you not to turn around.

You saw her rest her cane against the cabinets out of the corner of your eye, and then her hands were on your shoulders, her fingertips tracing down your back so lightly that you could have been imagining it. You fought a shiver, swallowing hard as her breath tickled your neck.

“Any progress?”

“No, Ms. Venable,” you replied softly, biting down on your lip to keep from gasping as she traced her thumb down the curve of your spine. 

She hummed and her hands fell away.

She leaned against the counter and you turned your head to meet her gaze.

It was scrutinizing, but you refused to twitch under it. Somehow something had changed after last night, and no matter how harshly she spoke or how many daggers she threw your way, there was a delicacy under all of it that made your cheeks flush and made your mind go blank.

She offered you her hand. “Come. Let’s try a different approach.”

~~~

You sat at that large wooden table, fingers running over the smooth wood as Venable placed a candlestick before you.

“I’m supposed to move it?” you asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

She nodded, scooting it around until she seemed satisfied with the distance. “We know you have the ability,” she said, and the candle lit. You hadn’t seen her pull a match. “Now it’s time to test that ability. Hone it and try to bend it to your will.”

You swallowed, situating yourself in your chair. A long moment passed where you stared at the candle, Venable just behind it and watching you closely. Her eyes on you were distracting, though, and as much as you tried to wrap your mind around the concept of telekinesis, you couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Venable,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to do this. Yesterday was… it was an accident. I got angry and it happened, but I didn’t _mean _for—“

She held her hand up to silence you.

“Your brain is trying to tell you it’s more complex than it actually is.” She wrapped her fingers around the candlestick, pushing it towards you. Took a step back. Looked up at you. “Simply tell it what you want it to do. Reshape the air around it, and use it to pull it towards you.”

On her last word the candlestick slid quickly across the table, landing firmly in her grasp. You blinked at her, brow furrowing, but then she released the candle and set it back to its original location.

“Now you.”

You must have tried at least a dozen different approaches. Holding your hand out, closing your eyes. Pushing, pulling, grabbing at it with your mind. But when you groaned and dropped your head in your hands and Venable supplied a soft “try thinking of the energy like a rope”, you wrapped your mind around the candlestick and before you knew what was happening it was cold and thin and icy in your grasp.

You whipped your head up, staring at Venable in shock. A soft smile was playing across her lips, and you were gaping between her and the candle as she pulled it out of your grip, replacing it across the table.

“Again.”

After that it was easy, and it worked every time. You used the energy surrounding the candle as a rope to pull it to you. You pulled it slowly, quickly, even let it jump through the air the last time.

Venable seemed pleased with your constant success, and you smiled at her, almost letting yourself feel proud.

“I did it. I-I’m doing it,” you said, reaching across the table and placing the candlestick back in front of Venable.

“How do you feel?” she asked, looking you up and down.

You beamed. “Amazing. Alive.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk and you went to pull the candlestick again, but before you could her fingers wrapped around it and held it firmly in place.

“Good,” she said simply, quirking her brow at you. “Now, take it.”

You let out a soft laugh, straightening yourself in your chair and extending your hand. You pulled at the air, yanking the candlestick towards you, but it didn’t budge. Your brow furrowed and you could have sworn you saw laughter playing in Venable’s eyes. You tried again. Nothing.

You sighed, deflating. But then she tutted and you looked up at her.

“Take. It.” She was staring at you intently, and there was something in her voice, something in her eyes that had your cheeks burning and your thighs clenching before you knew what was happening. Somehow you felt… you _knew _that if you could do this, she would reward you. And it really didn’t matter what it was. Even if it was just a smile. You would fight for it.

You cleared your throat, bracing your hands on the table and stretching out your neck. A split second later and you were tugging on the candlestick again. Your eyes narrowed and it shifted, just so. Venable’s fingers tightened around it.

“Cheater,” you muttered, focusing on the candlestick and yanking it with your mind. It slid a fraction of an inch and Venable’s hand tightened again, pulling it back to her. You growled, pulling it again, but it wouldn’t budge. Her hand was too tight around it. So you did the logical thing. You pried her fingers off.

You wrapped your mind around them, forming tiny ropes around each of her slender digits. And then you peeled them off, one by one. At the first finger, Venable’s smile faltered. By the third, it had melted off her face altogether. The last finger was the hardest, but with a slight tilt of your head she released it, and the candlestick skidded across the table. It was halfway to you when it stopped, shivering.

You looked up at Venable, her lip between her teeth as she quirked a brow at you. She made it seem casual, made it seem easy, but her eyes were narrowed and you took some pride in the fact that this was a struggle, even for her.

It bloomed in your chest, along with the determination to win your prize, and the candle wobbled, almost falling off the base. But then it inched towards you, and you weren’t sure if you had broken her concentration or if you were actually winning, but it was the opportunity you had been waiting for. You yanked, and the candle slid smoothly into your hand. You blew the flame out in triumph, biting your lip smugly as you met Venable’s eyes.

Her expression hesitated, wavered, and you almost thought she was going to scold you. But then she smiled and she looked _pleased, _and you were so proud of yourself you could have cried.

She walked over to you, pulling the candlestick out of your tight grip. You stared at her fingers as they brushed against yours, and then she was bending down, pressing her lips against your temple and murmuring a soft “good girl” against your skin.

You melted into her for a fraction of a second, exhaustion washing over you as you let your mind relax. She pulled away too quickly, her fingers dancing over your shoulders she crossed behind you.

She replaced the candlestick on the shelf next to one of the terrariums, wiping her hands and straightening.

“Dinner?”

~~~

You went ahead of her, per her request, arriving at the dining room and sitting down in the seat next to hers. It was dead silent when you entered, each of the residents either glaring at you or avoiding your eyes completely. The night before flooded back to you, and you almost resented her for sending you by yourself, but then the clacking of a cane echoed down the hallway and one by one the purples and greys dropped their gazes to their laps.

You were the only one who was staring at her as she entered, all swagger and confidence as she pulled her chair out and settled into it. She propped her cane against the arm, folding her hands on the table.

A long silence filled the air, pressing in on you. You looked between Venable’s smug expression and the cowering greys, getting the sneaking suspicion that you were missing something. But before you could throw Venable a questioning look, one of the purples spoke up.

“Thank you for allowing us to eat dinner, Ms. Venable,” he said softly, and each of the residents nodded and mumbled in agreement.

Jessica was next, her voice smaller than you had ever heard it. “Yes, Ms. Venable. Thank you.”

They went one by one, thanking her individually, and you watched Venable’s eyes move between them, her thumb tapping against her folded hands.

When they had all finished she swallowed, nodding. “It is necessary that you eat at least once a day. I hope you realize now that it is a privilege to have more than one meal. Not something that is owed to you.”

A few of the greys glared at you, and you squirmed under their gaze as you put the pieces together. They had gotten in trouble. She had taken away a meal. Maybe two. And it was pretty clear that everyone assumed you had ratted on them.

Venable was quick, though, and she certainly wasn’t someone to let something slide, so when you glanced at her and her eyes were moving between the greys staring at you, you weren’t surprised that she stood.

“And if Meade informs me again of your vulgar conversations when I am not present,” she stated slowly, picking up her cane and tapping it to emphasize her words, “you will be skipping meals for weeks, not days.”

When Meade’s name came out of her mouth, the heat of their gazes dropped from you, one by one. Venable looked pleased, or as pleased as she could look this way. She was still hard, firm, but her eyes weren’t narrowed and her shoulders relaxed.

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” some of them mumbled, and then dinner was being served, the lavish silver covers being removed from your trays simultaneously.

The rest of dinner passed somewhat uneventfully, the sliding of silverware the only sound for a long while until soft murmuring between neighbors grew louder and the residents fell back into their usual routine. You were eating slowly, listening to conversations about the world outside, memories, loved ones who were long gone. But her eyes were on you, and it was distracting.

You tried not to fidget, tried not to draw any attention to yourself. Not in this company. But after fifteen minutes spent itching under the heat of her gaze, you broke and glanced over at her. She wasn’t looking at you.

You furrowed your brow, trying you clear your head. A deep breath, and then you dipped your spoon back into the stew, the same stew you had eaten since you arrived, and brought it to your mouth. You saw Venable’s finger twitch out of the corner of your eye, and you almost choked.

It tasted like pot roast. Like your mom’s homemade pot roast.

You looked over at Venable, eyes wide. She licked her lips slowly and quirked a brow at you, dropping your gaze after a moment to glance around the table. One of the purples said something and she replied smoothly, but you weren’t listening.

You took two more bites and the flavors exploded across your tongue, carrots and potatoes, pepper and rosemary and thyme. It was divine. It tasted like home. You wanted to thank her, wanted to hug her and kiss her and pin her up against something. But you couldn’t, so you settled for slipping your hand under the table and brushing your fingers over her elbow, squeezing lightly.

She stiffened, mid-sentence, and cleared her throat quickly to cover it. She didn’t look at you, didn’t break her train of thought, but you knew by the way her fingers twitched on her fork that she understood.

~~~

After dinner was drinks and social hour, and you realized as you followed Venable out of the dining room that she attended it regularly. Which meant that you would, too. You had reveled in the idea of being able to skip this stupid practice once you had been reassigned, but as Venable sat in her regular seat by the fire and motioned you over, your heart sank. You stood beside her for a while, hands folded in front of you as you watched her eyes shifting across the room, observing each of the interactions. But after about a half hour she leaned towards you, fingers gripping into your wrist and pulling you down so she could whisper a soft “go mingle” in your ear.

You blinked at her and she nodded, tilting her head towards some greys clustered in a corner. You shook your head softly, a pleading look in your eyes, but then she hardened and her grip tightened.

“I wasn’t asking,” she said, her voice low.

You swallowed. “Yes, Ms. Venable.”

And that’s how you managed to find yourself cornered, almost ten minutes later as everyone left, by two people you had hoped you’d never see again.

“You’re her bitch,” one of the greys - Emily, you thought absently - sneered, scrunching up her nose.

You took a deep breath to center yourself. “I am not her _bitch_,” you started, but at the mocking look on her face you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“Oh, alright,” she said sweetly. “So I guess you just spend all of your time in her room _not _being tied up and spanked.”

You glanced across the room in a desperate attempt to catch Venable’s gaze, but she was already watching you, hands wrapped tightly around her cane and jaw set. Emily snorted and her friend cackled.

The friend bit her lip, stepping closer to you. Blood rushed in your ears from her proximity. When she spoke, her voice was low. “What’s she like?” she asked, and you blinked at her, biting into your cheek. She stepped closer again. “Does she use her cane? Does it hurt?”

“Would you like to find out?”

Venable was next to you, looming over this girl. Her voice held almost no inflection and she annunciated a little bit too harshly. The grey’s eyes went wide as saucers and she stepped back. Venable took that opportunity to move between the two of you, placing her cane in front of her and forcing the grey to take another step back.

“No?” she said sarcastically, her eyebrows shooting up in mock sympathy. She tutted. “Oh, that is a shame.” You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. The grey tried to glance around her to meet your eyes, but Venable moved her cane to the side, her arm blocking the girl’s view. “I would suggest getting back to your work,” she drawled slowly, “before I decide that you are dispensable and let you try your hand at survival _outside_.” She tapped her cane to emphasize the word and the girls scattered.

She watched them carefully, waiting for every door to shut before turning to you. Her nose was twitching.

“You don’t have to do that,” you started, stuttering as she took a step towards you. “Y-You don’t have to protect me. I can fend for myself.”

She softened then, her lips twitching into a small smile. She clicked her cane, taking a step closer still. “I know,” she murmured, tongue flicking out over her lips as she tilted your chin up. You could feel her breath on your face, slow and steady and warm, and you gulped. Her thumb flicked over your jaw and goosebumps broke out over your skin. You leaned into her touch, rocking up onto your toes to get closer, you needed to be _closer. _She dipped her head, pressing her cheek to yours, and when she whispered in you ear you thought you might faint on the spot.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

~~~

It was agony, that long walk back to her room. You were still swooning from Venable’s breath on your face, her mouth against your ear. But under that your brain was split in two, constantly warring between gratitude for defending you and for the glorious meal she had gifted you with. And then there was the shame.

She had punished the other residents. Which meant that she knew exactly what had happened. Exactly what they had said. And consequently, that you had hidden it from her. Blatantly lied. Right to her face.

You felt like a punishment was coming, amplified by the way she blew into her room without bothering to shut the door behind her. But in the time it took you to close it and turn to face her she had already sat down, bent over that thick, leather-bound book on the wooden table. She was flicking through the pages impatiently.

You watched her for a moment. Hesitated. A large part of you wanted to leave. To take the night for what it was and high-tail it out of there before she decided to change her mind. But that tiny voice in your head told you that you needed to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words almost soundless as they dropped out of your mouth.

She turned, brow furrowed. Out of frustration for the interruption or confusion, you didn’t know. You swallowed, gathering your courage.

“You knew… that I lied to you.”

She made a soft sound, turning fully in her chair and reaching for her cane.

“Meade told me everything, the obedient woman.” Her brows raised with an unamused shake of her head. “You would do well to follow her example.”

“Meaning?” That was too casual, too snarky, and you chastised yourself.

Her eyes narrowed. She growled. “Don’t ever lie to me again.”

“Yes, Ms. Venable.”

She paused just long enough to make you squirm. And then she was up, cane tapping as she strode over to you.

She stood so close that you could feel the cape of her dress brushing against your side, and you tried not to tremble. She was angry. You had messed up. Multiple times. And at some point her patience just had to run out.

Venable looked down at you for a long moment, an almost playful expression crossing her features and you forgot how to breathe. Fear of punishment was replaced by the need that had clawed its way up your throat when she was this close to you before, her face inches from yours. All you had to do was lean up and _touch her. _

“What were those greys talking about?” She tipped her chin up, squaring her shoulders.

Your thoughts were broken and you blinked at her before realizing what she meant. You shook your head dismissively. “It was nothing, they were just being—“

“Tell me.” Her cane hit the floor.

You flinched, not wanting to have to say the words out loud. Not wanting her to see the flush that rose to your cheeks when you replayed it in your head.

“You were there, Ms. Venable. Surely you heard—“

She hit her cane on the ground again, silencing you.

“I want to see,” she drawled slowly, fingers digging into her cane as she paced away from you, “if you have learned your lesson, or if further action needs to be taken. Now, _tell me_.”

You gulped. “They were asking about you. Your… cane.”

“My disability?” Venable’s voice wavered, and she swallowed thickly to cover it.

“No,” you supplied quickly, taking a step towards her. “No, no. Not at all. It was more of a… sexual implication.”

She arched a perfect brow.

A moment of silence and you cracked, pulling on your fingernail as the words rushed out of your mouth. “They implied that you spanked me with it. Tied me up. Bondage. That kind of thing. It’s stupid, they’re idiots and you shouldn’t pay them any attention.”

She hummed, her lips twitching into a smirk as she stalked towards you. Her hand rested on your shoulder and she leaned down to whisper in your ear as she paced around you. “Then why are you blushing?”

You gulped, hands coming up to feel your cheeks. They were hot. And if she could see you blushing now, how many other times had she caught you when you’d thought you’d hidden it?

Her cane flicked against your ankle as she passed behind you and you whipped your head around.

“My, my… You are a crimson little thing, aren’t you?”

You ducked your head to hide your flush, but before you managed it her finger hooked under your chin and tilted it up. Her eyes were practically black, sparking in the dim light of the room. You squirmed.

“Would you like that?” she asked, her voice low. “Tied to my bed, helpless, begging me to stop as my cane came down on you over,” _Tap_. “And over,” _Tap_. “And over?” _Tap_. Your eyes widened at the sound of her cane and she pushed her tongue into her cheek, presumably to hide a smile. When she spoke again, her voice had hit a pitch that went straight to your core. “Well…?”

Your eyes flicked down to her lips and you let out a shaky breath. “You told me never to lie to you, Ms. Venable.”

“So don’t lie to me.”

You leaned into her, your eyes fluttering closed as you felt her breath tickle your nose. They snapped open when her fingers moved from your chin down to your throat, her hand warm against the cool air of the room as it pressed into your skin. She quirked her brow at you, jaw sloped so that she was almost looking down on you. Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip and your mouth went dry. Her hand tightened around your throat, just so, squeezing the words out of your mouth.

“Y-You wouldn’t have to tie me up for me to like it. I’d take it any way you’d give it to me.”

Something flashed behind her eyes and you felt her breath stutter against your skin. You panicked for a moment, adding a quick, “…Ms. Venable.” to punctuate your statement before she chastised you.

She released your throat then, fingers flexing as she settled them back atop her cane. Time froze as you waited for a response, an acknowledgement. Some indication that you hadn’t crossed a major line. Even though you were certain you had. You watched as she chewed on her bottom lip, taking a slow step back to regard you. Her eyes moved down your form, over and over again. When she met your gaze they were practically glittering.

“I think… you can call me Wilhemina.”

You sucked in a breath, goosebumps ripping out over your skin at the way her name fell from her mouth. Her perfect mouth.

“Are you sure?” was all you could manage, fingers twitching at your sides. She was drawing you in, her eye contact placing you under a kind of spell that absolutely required you to be nearer her, next to her, on top of her.

She nodded slowly, a smile forming as she softly responded “yes”.

You couldn’t help the sound that you made, somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. She trusted you. She was letting you into her world. Every inch of you was itching, but you didn’t want to push your luck. You didn’t want to push _her_. This moment was vulnerable, exposed, sensitive like a nerve.

You fidgeted, fighting the need to reach out and_ touch her_ that was burning through you so hot you thought your atoms might actually combust.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice still soft.

You nodded, swallowing the lump forming around her name in your throat. You had never said it out loud before. “Yes… Wilhemina.”

It felt strange coming out of your mouth and you almost didn’t like it, but then she sniffed and dropped her cane, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her. Every inch of you pressed against every inch of her and the itch running under you skin morphed into a tingle that heated you from the inside out.

You didn’t know what you had imagined a hug from her would be like. You weren’t even sure you had _imagined _being hugged by Wilhemina Venable. But it was softer than anything you could have dreamed.

She was warm, her arms holding you to her tightly and yet somehow gingerly. You fit perfectly together, despite the thick, stiff clothing you were both wearing. And it was so casual, so _normal, _that you almost forgot that you were in a bunker fifty feet underground. It felt like you had known her your whole life, like you should have been in an apartment in your pajamas curled together eating ice cream. Like the hard part of her had never existed, because in this moment, it was nowhere to be found. Somehow you felt like you would never truly see it again. Not when it was just the two of you.

When she rested her chin in your hair and kissed the top of your head you stiffened. It was met by her fingers drifting lightly down your spine and a soft hum. You were flushed, content, and you didn’t want to move a hair for the fear of her letting go.

But she did let go, after a long moment, and you almost whined at the loss of contact. The cold air that filled the space where she had been stung your cheeks, and only then did you realize how hot you were. When you looked up at her questioningly, she was biting down on a smile.

“Are you happy?” she asked, a light laugh threaded through her words.

You chuckled, nodding softly. “Is it that obvious?”

She grabbed for your hand, and you half expected her to kiss it. You _longed _for her mouth on your skin. But she held it between you, tapping your knuckle. “I’d say so,” she whispered, grinning at you. And that’s when you noticed that you were glowing. Actually, properly glowing. There was a pale light radiating off of you. You glanced over the rest of your body and it was all the same. Soft gold was flickering around your skin and you almost felt embarrassed, but Wilhemina didn’t seem phased in the slightest and it helped to ease your nerves.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she supplied lightly, threading her fingers through yours. “This one is easy to control. It will go away on its own, and when it comes back, _if _it ever comes back… It will be much less intense. Most people never even notice it happening the first time. I would have missed mine completely if my mother hadn’t…”

She trailed off and you saw something like sadness cloud her eyes. Your heart immediately sank and you squeezed her hand, bringing her attention back to you. She composed herself a little too quickly.

“Ah, see?” she said, raising her brows and gesturing to you. “Better already.”

You looked down at your hands. She was right. The glow was gone. You felt colder then, something in your chest shifting and sinking _just so. _She pulled her hand from yours, bending over to pick up her cane.

A deep breath and a quick shake of your head, and it was almost like the moment had never happened.

But it had. And now you had a privilege that no one else in this cursed place had. That you weren’t sure anyone had had for quite some time, if at all. And there was no way you were going to squander it.

“So,” you started, forming her name carefully in your mouth. “Wilhemina…”

Her fingers twitched on her cane and she adjusted them so discreetly that you almost didn’t notice. She answered you with a questioning hum, a smile playing in her eyes and fighting its way back onto her lips.

“What’s next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't even know what to say besides thank you for reading! I promise this sexual tension will be resolved, I promise I promise I promise!!! And as always, kudos and comments absolutely make my day! Please feel free to also come talk to me on Tumblr @grilledcheeseandguavajelly! I don't bite (hard) ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season, if you celebrated!
> 
> I know it's been ages since I posted, but the holidays were crazy and I just couldn't get parts of this chapter to where I liked them. I didn't forget about you, just ask @thatgirlintheleatherjacket. I made her proof this chapter like... fifteen times? Maybe sixteen?
> 
> Anyway, I finally got it where I'm happy with it! I hope you all enjoy it, too!! Thank you so much for reading!!

You still dreaded the laundry days. Venable didn’t have her own facility for it, so you had to brave the common washing area with the rest of the greys. Somehow today, though, the universe smiled upon you and the laundry room was empty when you arrived.

You hummed softly to yourself as you loaded all of her laundry in, not bothering to separate anything as it was all either plum purple or black. Your fingers skimmed over the soft fabric of the black jackets and skirts, the rough, stiff fabric of the gothic dresses.

In these past few weeks, you had grown too accustomed to touching her. To her touching you. Something had changed, with using her first name. Walls had tumbled down, and the two of you shared an intimacy that made your fingers itch. She trusted you. And even if it was only a brush of her fingers here or there, her hand on your shoulder as you played the piano or her knee nudging yours under the dining table, you felt like you had been gifted something precious.

She let you undress her now, every night. Let you pull her zipper down and help her into her dinner gown. Let you pin back any stray hairs that had fallen during the day. And then, after dinner and social hour and too many stolen glances, she let you pull that zipper down again.

You never got to see her completely bare. She always had a slip on before dinner, and she never let you stay long enough to see her change out of it after. You always saw that perfect expanse of back, though. Her slip never covered that. And the more you exposed it, the more you needed your mouth on it.

The machine dinged and you let out a long breath, pulling her clothes out — they were all so _warm_ — and separating her dresses from her blouses and skirts as you folded them and placed them into the basket at your feet.

The sound of footsteps and giggling echoed down the hallway, and you quickly piled the rest of her clothes into the basket and slid out of the washing room, dodging past the greys with your head down. They sniggered, whispers of “there goes Venable’s little helper” and “traitorous bitch” hanging in the air behind you.

~~~

“Ah, you’re back.”

Her voice was melodic as you entered the room, floating through the air and catching in your brain. You had only heard her speak to you like that once before. When you were laying in her bed and her guard had been completely down.

You shut the metal door behind you, balancing the laundry basket. It wobbled, and you hastily set it down against the wall before it fell.

Wilhemina hummed as you tucked stray sleeves back into the basket, leveling the contents out, and you turned, double-taking at the sight of her.

She was sitting at the wooden table, hair tumbling in soft curls around her shoulders, a few potted plants pulled from the shelves and placed around the leather-bound book before her. Your eyes moved over them, one by one, and you mentally checked them off.

Tomato, peppers, eggplant. And another, one that was dangling at the back of your mind but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. God, you had been down in this bunker for too long.

You walked over to Wilhemina, reaching around and folding a leaf from the plant between your fingers. “Which one is this?”

She glanced up from the book, her fingers tracing over words and tapping impatiently. Looked from you to the leaf. “It’s a golden dragon.”

You nodded, pretending you had a clue about what she was talking about. “Oh, right.”

Her eyes had fallen back to the book, brow furrowed, but at the light words leaving your mouth she glanced back at you, biting down on a smirk.

You sat in silence for a moment, your fingers playing with the fuzzy leaves as you tried to remember what the heck a golden dragon was and why you thought that sounded wrong, but just as you opened your mouth to question her, she spoke.

“It’s a chickpea, darling.”

You looked over at her. She hadn’t even bothered to look up from her book, her fingers tracking the words and flipping the pages quicker than should have been possible. The leaf twitched between your fingers and you looked down.

It shivered, flinched, and then a new sprout was budding up, growing taller and taller as leaves sprouted off of it, green chickpeas hanging from them.

Your mind churned, processing everything that was unfolding in front of you, and you turned to Wilhemina, head quirked.

“Are you… cooking something?”

She ignored you for a moment, mouth forming over unspoken words as she stared down at the yellowed pages. You saw a few more tomatoes pop up on the vine to the left of her, and then she closed the book, seemingly satisfied. She turned to you. Smiled.

“You have a lot of questions today.”

You fought the blush crawling into your cheeks, shrugging. “It’s just a lot of food. You know. To not do anything with.”

A quirked brow. “And who said we weren’t going to do anything with it?”

“We?”

She cleared her throat. “Where do you think your meals come from? Do you think that we get shipments from up above? Do you think anything grows up there?”

You shook your head no.

“No,” she confirmed, lips pursing over the word. “That vulgar stew that everyone complains about has to come from somewhere. And it just so happens that I’m quite good at growing most of the ingredients.”

You blinked. She was making it? All of it? But there had to be at least thirty residents now, with more on the way. And—

She stood, bracing herself on the table, and the second she straightened she wobbled. You reached out and grabbed her elbows to steady her.

“Wilhemina?” you asked carefully, searching her face. She was paler than normal, her fingers gripping into your forearms to keep herself steady.

“I’m fine.” She blew you off, shaking her head. “Would you mind… bringing me my cane? It’s just there, against the counter.” Her head tilted in the direction of the small kitchen and you had retrieved it before she could blink, placing it in her hand and gripping your fingers back into her arms to keep her upright.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A nod, a soft smile. And then she pulled herself up, leaning on her cane. And she was back. Perfectly stoic, perfectly poised. Walking away.

You watched her for a moment, made sure she didn’t wobble again. But she seemed fine. She glanced back at you, brow arched.

“Aren’t you going to help me dress for dinner?”

~~~

It was dark, the crackling of the fire filling the large space as the residents mingled. Venable was standing tonight, talking with a few purples before moving over to a group of greys. You had to give her credit, she tried not to discriminate. Or maybe she just wanted to keep an eye on everyone. Either way, something warm was blooming in your chest and you had to fight the smile creeping its way onto your face.

A soft cough next to you and you broke your gaze, glancing over.

An unfamiliar grey was looking at you, a shy smile pushing her freckles up and crinkling her nose.

“Hi,” she started, her voice no more than a squeak. She cleared her throat. “I’m Ruth.”

Your eyes narrowed as you tried to place her. And then. Right. She was one of the new arrivals, the one who had asked you if there was ever any fruit to eat at this outpost. Her outpost had been overrun, Wilhemina had told you. She was one of only two survivors. You softened.

“Hi, Ruth. I’m Y/N.” You stretched your hand out and she took it, shaking it softly. She held on a little bit too long, and you couldn’t help but glance over at Wilhemina.

She was staring at you out of the corner of her eye, her finger tapping too quickly atop her cane. The grey she was talking to asked her if she was okay and she turned, adjusting herself so that her back was to you, shoulders tipped up too straight.

“How long have you been here?” Ruth asked, edging closer to you as she brushed her bangs out of her face.

“Quite a while,” you replied, glancing at Wilhemina once more before turning back to the girl. “To be honest, I’ve lost track of time.”

Ruth giggled, nodding. “I get that. At my old outpost they used to mess with us. Tell us years had gone by. Have us keep calendars, shorten the months, flip weekends and skip holidays. It was all very… disorienting.”

You nodded, a pang of sympathy shooting through you. Venable was harsh, true, but she was never that cruel.

You were about to respond when a loud cackle erupted through the space. You whipped around to find Jessica talking to Wilhemina, her hand on her arm as Wilhemina’s lips twitched.

_Fuck_.

Ruth said something but you put your hand up to silence her, your mind swimming as you watched Jessica’s fingers stroking Wilhemina’s elbow. And watched Wilhemina do absolutely nothing about it. She actually seemed to be quite engaged, her brow pushed up in interest as she nodded along with whatever Jessica was saying. Jessica’s fingers played over the fabric of her sleeve, rubbing it and pinching it and something hot flared through you.

You told yourself to take deep breaths, to relax. But to see her let someone else in, let someone else touch her so intimately, let alone touch her at all… Your blood was boiling and before you knew what was happening you excused yourself from Ruth’s company, practically running out the door.

~~~

You hands slammed down into the piano so hard you didn’t even hear Wilhemina enter. You had pulled something from your brain, something hot and angry and unnecessarily complex. Something to clear your mind and get that jealous itch out from under your skin. So when her hands found your shoulders and she leaned into you from behind, you started, fingers freezing.

You wanted to be angry. You really, truly did. But the warmth of her hands as she massaged her thumbs into your shoulders was quickly making you melt and you honestly couldn’t remember why you had been upset in the first place.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her voice not quite softened down yet.

You nodded, thinking for a fleeting moment how you loved the way she had to unwind after going out, after being with the residents. How you loved being the one who got to see her like this, in between her hard and soft layers, shoulders relaxing by the second and smile making its way onto her face. But then you remembered the way her lip twitched up into a smirk when Jessica touched her. The way she had nodded along with the movement.

Wilhemina’s fingers ghosted over your neck, tracing up behind your ear and you flinched, pulling away and turning to face her. You didn’t want her touching you like that. Not if it wasn’t special. Not if it wasn’t just for you.

You swallowed, resolve settling in your chest. “Will that be all for tonight, Ms. Venable?”

Something flashed across her face as she pulled her hands away and you could have sworn for a fraction of a second she looked shocked, but then it was gone and her lips pursed into a thin line as her eye twitched.

“Yes. You are dismissed.”

You were off the piano bench so fast it could have bitten you, straightening out your dress and walking a little too loudly out the door. You shut the metal one behind you, taking a breath and centering yourself before you heaved the large wooden door open and were exposed in the hallway.

~~~

The shower that was meant to clear your head had not been fun. You couldn’t get it out of your mind. The look in her eyes. The smile just under her features. The way she _hadn’t pulled away_.

You scrubbed shampoo through your hair, relishing in the scrape of your nails over your scalp. It distracted you. Until a bubble floated in front of your face and you watched the iridescence flicker in the dim light. And you realized you were supposed to have lessons tomorrow.

Pyrokinesis, she had said. And you didn’t want to go.

After everything, that was the thought that broke you. That’s what made the tears fall. Not once since you had arrived, not once, had you considered the possibility of _not_ wanting to be around her. Even before, before this crazy whirlwind of magic and touches and music. From the moment you had laid eyes on her, when she had stood just a little bit too close to you and assigned you to the laundry, you craved that proximity. It kept you grounded. Kept you sane.

And now that craving had expanded tenfold, like an addiction. It suffocated you with need. The way her eyes lit up when you succeeded. The smiles she rewarded you with.

The same smile that was playing under her features when she had looked at Jessica.

You growled in frustration, pulling your fingers through the knots in your hair as you rinsed it out. Turning so the water fell onto your face. Warmed you up. Cooled you down.

You needed to get them out of your head. Both of them. Why did it matter what they did? Why did it matter how Wilhemina looked at her? It didn’t. _It didn’t. _You were being ridiculous.

You slammed the handle of the shower down, shutting the water off and grabbing for your towel, scrubbing it over your hair, yanking on it too hard to think of something, anything but her.

You had let this woman in too far. Too deep. You had let yourself cave to her, soften and weaken until she could shape you with a glance or a twitch of her fingers. And you almost hated yourself for it.

But it had been so _easy_.

Your fingers worked through your hair, methodically braiding it as her eyes flashed through your mind. Her voice. Her fingers. The feel of them threading through your curls, folding your hair into a neat plait. Her fingers fidgeting at the small of your back before pulling your zipper up. Her fingers pulling that zipper _down_.

The strands of your braid slipped free and fell apart countless times, and after braiding and re-braiding it enough to make your arms burn, you gave up, yanking the mangled thing free and resolving yourself to sleeping on your hair wet.

You couldn’t focus. Not with Wilhemina clouding your brain the way she was. And you hated yourself for it, but there was a dull throbbing between your legs that was starting to distract you. She got to you too easily, and you should have been embarrassed, but the want was louder. The need was heavier. You shoved it out of your mind, pushed it away like you always did and collapsed into your bed, too hard and the sheets too thin. And it didn’t smell like her.

You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, although you couldn’t really be certain. All you knew was that every time you closed your eyes, there was Jessica. Filling the gaps of your imagination. Wilhemina pulled from you and wrapped around her instead.

You couldn’t find an inch of peace to relax in, so you settled for pacing your room, your thoughts swirling in your mind and pricking the edges of your sanity like whispers in the dark.

You wanted to hate Jessica, wanted to blame her for stealing Wilhemina. For taking her from you. But it was just as much Venable’s fault as Jessica’s. She had let her touch her. She had almost smiled. If you were going to blame one, you would blame them both. And if you were going to blame them both, then you would blame them both equally.

You stopped, grounding yourself as realization pooled down around you. You fought the tears of frustration that burned in your nose. You couldn’t blame them. Either of them.

As much as you wanted to hate Jessica, to push all of your anger and jealousy and fear onto someone to protect yourself, you couldn’t.

Wilhemina wasn’t yours. You had no claim to her. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted. And just because you were working under her, just because you had fancied yourself special, with the way she taught you and coddled you and seemed to hold you higher than everyone else… That didn’t mean she liked you and it certainly didn’t mean she was barred from engaging with other people.

The thought brought a cold resolve with it, an emptiness that finally wore you out. Exhaustion washed over you as you laid back down and you found yourself sinking into some semblance of sleep, humiliation and regret burning through you and keeping you warm. And as you closed your eyes, her smile and freckles and fiery glances filling your mind, you couldn’t help but feel utterly, hopelessly stupid.

~~~

“Pick a powerful memory,” Wilhemina started, pacing for a moment before sitting down opposite you. “One that evokes emotion. One that holds something special. Something that you lose yourself to.”

Her smile flashed through your mind, laughter ringing in your ears. The light touches, the stolen glances. Her arms wrapping around you.

“Do not lose yourself to it,” she continued, licking her lips slowly. “Feel it. Fully.”

An image of Venable and Jessica flashed hot across your vision.

“Revel in the sensation, but do not submit.”

Your brow twitched as you pulled the scene into your mind. The candlelight flickering across their faces. The smug smile on Jessica’s lips as she inched closer to Wilhemina.

“Pull on that emotion. Use it. Feed off of its energy.”

As she spoke, the images swirled in your mind— Jessica approaching her, the way she licked her lips, her hand sliding down Wilhemina’s arm. The fingers, the smile, the batted eyelashes, the subtle lean—

The fire behind you blazed to life and Venable looked pleased for a fraction of a second. But you hadn’t stopped looking at her and all you could think of was those fire-reflecting eyes staring at someone else, lusting after someone _else_.

The fire grew, the flames licking up the stone hearth and over the mantle. A bead of sweat dripped down your nose.

The pleasure in Wilhemina’s eyes melted into panic. She frantically met your gaze, your eyes still locked on her.

“Stop,” she said firmly, glancing from you to the fire.

The crackling of the flames drowned out her voice, morphing it into something breathy and hot.

“Don’t stop,” you heard her beg, moans and sighs threading together somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Visions of her grinding down on Jessica’s thigh, tongues clashing, flooded your mind. You could feel the heat behind you, but it only fueled your jealousy. You should have done something. You should have said something. She was barely yours and now she was being taken away. She was leaving you, abandoning you, laughing at you and sniggering behind your back just like those horrible greys—

A firm hand over yours broke your concentration.

“That is _enough_.”

You were grounded by the sound of your own labored breathing, blood pounding in your ears. You blinked away the visions and the red tint of anger, glancing behind you. The flames had hit the ceiling now, and the plants on the mantle had been scorched black.

Your mouth went dry.

The fire went out. It wasn’t your doing.

There was a long moment of silence where she stared at you, her hand still covering your own. After what seemed like an eternity, she swallowed and removed her hand, rising and moving over to the mantle. Her voice was quiet as she slipped her fingers delicately over the charred leaves.

“Power requires control,” she started, and the leaves began to heal. “We do not—“ she paused, turning to you. “We do _not_ pull our power from anger. We do not fuel our magic with volatile thoughts.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick. “Do you understand?”

Shame rose to your cheeks in a flush and you ducked your head. “Yes, Ms. Venable.”

A heavy silence hung between you, and it took everything in your power not to let the tears pricking your eyes fall.

You watched her fingers twitch at her sides as she stared at you, incredulous. She worked her jaw, and you could see in her eyes that she was warring with herself. After what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence.

“Good. You are dismissed.”

“But I—“

“You. Are. Dismissed.”

~~~

Wilhemina did not look at you through the entire dinner, rather staring at her food, fidgeting with the tableware, and stepping into the purple’s conversation when necessary.

You had tried to catch her eye multiple times, but after almost thirty minutes you gave up.

Your failure gnawed at you relentlessly. The way she had looked at you. Worried, disappointed… Disgusted.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling, that horrible, wonderful feeling of the fire blazing behind you. The power coursing through your veins.

A giggle snapped your attention back to the room. And your heart sank.

Jessica laughed loudly at something Wilhemina had said, hand covering her mouth flirtatiously. And as you glanced between them, teeth on edge, Wilhemina kept talking. Egged her on with a roll of her eyes and another snarky comment.

Jessica replied in a tone that was entirely too suggestive, and you startled when Wilhemina met your gaze. It was just for a second, almost nothing. If you hadn’t been staring at her, waiting for her reaction, you would have missed it.

And then she smirked, just so, lip quirking up. “Maybe I will.”

You hadn’t been paying attention to what they were saying. The blood rushing in your ears and the heat in your cheeks had drowned their voices out. But at those three words, your stomach turned. You knew that tone. You knew it too well. And it was only supposed to be for you.

Nausea washed through you and you slid out of your chair. You needed to leave. Needed to breathe. And there was no _air _down here.

Venable’s eyes caught yours as you ducked your head, her smirk faltering just so, and you slipped out the door.

~~~

You hadn’t even made it halfway back to your room when she caught up to you.

“Y/N,” she said firmly, and your quick pace faltered, but you didn’t stop. You heard her growl in frustration and then her fingers gripped around your arm, yanking you to a halt. “Stop.”

You ripped your arm from her grip, spinning to face her. “Let me go.”

Her brow raised at your tone, and she nodded slowly. “Okay, you want to play that game? Fine. _Go_.”

You froze at her words, regret shooting through you and keeping your feet planted in place.

She rolled her eyes and then she was blowing past you, cane tapping quickly. You glanced behind you, checked to make sure the hallway was empty, and then you were practically running after her. “Wilhemina, no, please. Wait!”

It was surprising, how quickly she could walk with her cane, how quickly she had put distance between you and disappeared from sight.

When you finally made it to her room she was already settled on a stool, leaning against the wooden table and rolling her cane back and forth across it. Her brow raised as you entered, a chastisement on her lips.

“Well, well. Look who decided she _did _want to see me.”

You gulped, folding and unfolding your fingers together.

“I have half a mind to punish you, the way you spoke to me,” she continued, raking her gaze over you slowly. And then she stood, cane pressing hard into the floor as she stalked toward you. “But no, I think you’d like that just a little bit too much.”

She leaned in when she reached you, closing the space between you until her face was inches from yours. Her eyes flicked down to your lips and you held your breath, not wanting to break this. Not wanting her to stop. God, you just needed her to _kiss you _already.

She held your gaze, her cane between you and digging into your hip as she pressed her body closer to yours. You could smell her, earthy and warm, and you fought the urge to let your eyes flutter shut.

“Why don’t you tell me about your little conversation with that grey,” she murmured, and you could have sworn she licked her tongue over her teeth.

You blinked at her, fingers tapping, balling into fists. Anything to keep you from reaching out and pulling her flush against you. “Who?” you tried softly, swallowing. “Ruth?”

She tilted her head, her brow quirking mockingly. “Oh, is that her name?" Eyes narrowed. "How _interesting_.”

“What do you want to know about her?” you asked carefully, fingers fidgeting at your sides. She pulled back then, and you finally took a breath. Let yourself relax. Until you looked up at her and saw her nostrils flare. Saw her jaw set. She tapped her cane on the ground.

“I’m going to be very clear so there will be no misunderstanding,” she said slowly, her voice hitting that pitch where she annunciated a little bit too hard. “You are never to speak to her again.”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she continued, lifting her cane and pushing it up under your chin. “Never again.”

You laughed then, a hard, flat laugh that made fire flare in her eyes. “You can’t be serious.” Batted her cane away. “After everything you did with Jessica? The way you talk to her? The way you look at her? The way you let her touch you?”

Her shoulders shifted. Jaw twitched. “She is harmless. I was just playing along.”

You scoffed. “This isn’t a _game_, Wilhemina.”

Her mouth dropped open incredulously, brows practically hitting her hairline. “You were the one who told me I was too harsh. Now I’m too friendly? God in heaven, Y/N, there’s no winning with you!”

“Not her,” you countered, your voice faltering. “Not like this.”

“Well then how?” Venable ground out. “If not like this, then how?”

She took another step towards you, forcing you back a step, and her fingers gripped tight around her cane as she hit it right next to your foot. Something hot started burning in your chest, and you fought it. Fought the urge to lash out. But hurt seared through.

“I thought I was the only person that you… And then you let her touch you like that and you were practically smiling and—” You swallowed, fighting the words. But you had lost your patience. “Do you have any idea what it does to me? When you sit here and treat me like I’m special and then turn around and let her in like that? Like it’s nothing?”

She laughed, hot and loud and entirely too harsh. “I was doing it for you! You were the one who said—“

“It hurts, Wilhemina!”

“You think it’s easy for me? You think I don’t feel the same way when I see you talking to someone or touching someone or—“

“I shook her hand! It doesn’t get more platonic than that!”

“I’m not talking about you shaking her—“

“What is it, then, Wilhemina? Huh? Am I allowed to talk to _anyone_? Ever?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. She—“

“Was just trying to be nice!”

“_Stop_ interrupting me!”

Venable’s hand came down across your cheek, cold and hard, and you gasped, tears pricking your eyes as you blinked stars from your vision.

There was a long moment, frozen silence filling the space.

And then you laughed. You were too shocked to do anything else. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you started, hand coming up to cover your cheek. You looked up at her, straightening.

Fire and heat poured off of her. She panted, shaking her hand out, just so, her eyes daring you to make another move. And she didn’t look remorseful. At all.

She opened her mouth to speak, but you held up your hand. She growled, snatching at your wrist, and you let her, eyes scanning her face. Waiting for her to slap you again.

She hesitated at your compliance, at the fact that you weren’t fighting back.

You shook your head slowly. “You don’t get to touch me like that.”

She held your gaze, hard, firm. And then suddenly so soft. She let you go. Her eyes searched yours, back and forth and back and forth. And when she spoke, her voice wavered. Cracked.

“I... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I don’t know why…” she trailed off, pressing her fingers to her temples. Shaking her head. Her movements were rigid, almost robotic, as if she didn’t know what to do with her limbs.

“It’s alright,” you tried, stepping closer to her. She took a step back, eyes frantic. You nodded softly, taking another step and closing the space between you. “It’s alright.”

She let you in this time, her breath hitching as you slid your hands over her sides and around her back. You pulled her to you gently, tugging her against you and resting your head on her shoulder as you hugged her. She hesitated, almost too long. You had only ever hugged her once, and it was on her terms. But after a moment there was a loud clang as her cane fell to the floor, and she wrapped her arms snugly around you, holding you tightly to her as she pressed soft kisses to the top of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, over and over, and you nodded against her.

“I know.”

You buried your face in the crook of her neck and she dropped her nose into your hair, humming. She was still tense, though. You could feel it. And you needed to let her know that everything was alright. That you forgave her. So you did the only thing you could think of. You tilted your chin up a fraction of an inch and you pressed a soft, warm kiss to her neck.

She stiffened, and for a second you thought you had done the absolute wrong thing. But then her hand traced down your spine, scratching lightly, and she hummed. So you did it again.

You felt her swallow, nudged your nose further against her skin. Felt her shift her weight. Lean into you. Slide her hands down your hips.

And then you pulled back, just enough so you could look her in the eye. Make sure all of this was okay. Make sure _she _was okay. And lord, the way she was looking at you, eyes dark, almost black. And so, so hungry.

You gulped.

“Wilhemina,” you whispered, fingers playing over her arms. You licked your lips.

“Yes,” she murmured, eyes on your mouth. 

A shiver went through you at the roughness in her voice, and you squeezed her arms, inching closer. Your noses practically touching.

“Are you sure?” you breathed, gaze moving between her eyes and her lips. The way her tongue darted out over them.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, hands locked on your hips.

“_Yes_,” she said again, her breath stuttering. There was something thick in her voice. Hot, heavy. You thought she might cry. You thought you might cry. And just as you nodded, leaned in, every inch of your body going numb, there was a loud banging on the door.

You startled, springing off of her.

“W-Who is it?” she called, her voice hoarse. She glanced at you, straightening her sleeves and running her fingers over her skirt. You pressed your hands to your cheeks, trying to cool the burning there. But it didn’t help. Every inch of you was on fire.

The heavy metal door opened and Meade walked through, hands full of a large silver plate.

“It's just me," Meade said casually as she closed the door behind her. “You didn't finish your dinner. I thought you might want me to—“

She cut off as she entered the space, eyes moving from Venable to you to her cane on the floor. You quickly averted your gaze, folding your hands in front of you and taking another step away from Venable.

Meade stood frozen, blinking, until Venable stretched out her hands, indicating to the plate. Meade brought it over, eyes still on you, and you bit the inside of your lip to distract yourself from the heat in your cheeks. Between your thighs.

“Thank you, Ms. Meade,” Venable said politely, and you whipped your head up. She was incredible. Completely back to normal. Hardened. Not a trace of anything to remind you of what had happened only moments ago.

Meade nodded, almost bowed, and you bit down on a smirk. That was supposed to be your job. Meade was practically Venable’s equal. And yet here she was, bowing, while you had been seconds from kissing Wilhemina.

Meade’s eyes found you again and you schooled your features the best you could.

“If that will be all?” Venable prompted, and Meade nodded again before making her way out the door.

The two of you stayed frozen until you heard the door click shut, and you listened for the wooden door on the other side. A soft thud, and you let out a long breath.

Venable looked at you then, brows softening and raising slightly, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. You smiled back halfheartedly, swallowing the lump in your throat. You needed your mouth on her, properly this time. But the moment had been broken and somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to close that space again. Something about it felt wrong. She was back to her usual self, walls up and shoulders just a little bit too straight.

You wanted to be upset, wanted to curse Meade for interrupting. But when Venable’s head tilted and she held up the platter, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Hungry?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

You nodded, swallowing an inappropriate remark. “Famished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I KNOW. But I promise the next chapter will be worth it!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! You have no idea how much it means to me that you have stuck by this fic for so long!! Comments and kudos ALWAYS make my day!!! (And even if I don't respond to your comments right away, that doesn't mean I don't see them!! I love each and every one of you!! <3)
> 
> Brace yourselves for the next chapter, it's going to be a lot!! See you ~very~ soon!! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to put a big intro on this one. Just... have fun ;)

“Concilium,” she stated plainly.

“Concilium.” You wrapped your mind around the word.

She nodded. “The act of controlling another person. Controlling their mind.”

Your brow shot up and you immediately shook your head. “I don’t think...”

“You can do it,” she pressed, stepping closer to you. “You’re going to practice on me, okay? It will be easy.”

She took another step towards you. You took a step back.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this, Wilhemina...”

A smile played at the corner of her mouth and you fought the twitch of your fingers.

Another step, and her hand was on your arm, thumb stroking lightly across your skin. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course, it’s just that—“

A finger against your lips. “I know. I know it seems strange, unnatural. Like an invasion of privacy.” You nodded, ignoring the tingle spreading through you at her touch. “And I admire you for that. For that respect.”

You gulped.

“But I’m telling you to do this, okay? I’m giving you permission to practice on me.”

She shifted closer, ducking her head to meet your gaze.

“I trust you, Y/N.”

A shiver ran through you and ice pricked your skin. You searched her face, trying to wrap your mind around what she was asking you to do. She nodded softly, adding “it’s just like the candlestick”, and then determination set in.

~~~

It had been exactly four days since Wilhemina had let you hug her, let you kiss her neck. Since Meade had barged in and broken the moment. And you didn’t think a second had gone by where you weren’t thinking of kissing her. You had been so close. Had gotten a glimpse of the taste of her. The warmth. And you absolutely needed more.

After two excruciatingly long days of trying to read her, to see where she stood on the whole thing and what she wanted to do about it and getting nothing in return, you had decided to pack all of those feelings away. To fold them down into a little box and shove them into the back of your mind. It was easier that way. That way, you could forget about it. That way you could focus on your chores. And things went about as usual. Dinners, dressing, cleaning, washing. And now, magic.

Except everything was different.

It was agony, all of the tiptoeing, the awkward politeness, the hesitant space you were giving each other. The way she barely touched you anymore, her hand coming up only to fall away again. The way you skirted around her, left two steps between you when you walked instead of one. You wanted to forget it had ever happened. Wanted to forget that she had given you the opportunity in the first place, so you could go back to the way things were.

But for some reason, standing there with Wilhemina in front of you, her fingers tapping on her cane as she waited for you to control her, to do something, _anything_, it was the only thing you could think of, and it was pounding through your brain on a loop. You needed to kiss her. You needed your mouth on her again.

So you concentrated, focused on the energy surrounding her. And then you pulled, assuming that it would be difficult like the past times. Assuming you would have to try multiple approaches. Assuming that it _wouldn’t work_.

But it did.

Just like that, she was yanked toward you, her lips crashing against yours as her eyes went wide.

You let her go, stumbling back.

“I’m so sorry—“ You scrambled, panic rising in your throat. “Oh god, Wilhemina— M-Ms. Venable. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened I just...”

She blinked. Once. Twice.

And then she was on you, crushing her mouth to yours and this time you hadn’t pulled, this time you hadn’t done anything. You don’t think you could have if you tried.

You melted under her. She was finally, _finally _kissing you. Her lips were soft and warm and she tasted like honey. It was everything you had dreamed of and more. And beneath the stars and the fireworks and the numbing joy that were splitting across your skull, a slow heat built in your chest and expanded through every inch of you.

You whimpered, fingers gripping into her sleeves, and you thought absently that you could kiss her for the rest of eternity and still not have enough.

And then just like that she pulled away.

She panted lightly, chest rising and falling as you stared at her in disbelief. You gulped and she wiped at the corner of her mouth. Cleared her throat. Straightened.

“You are dismissed.”

Ice washed through you. “No, Ms. Venable. Please—“

She held up a hand to silence you.

“Please,” you continued, ignoring the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face at being disobeyed. “It won’t happen again. I don’t know what came over me, I am so sorry. Just... please don’t make me leave. Not now. _Please_.”

Tears made your vision swim and you thought you saw her soften. And then she was walking toward you, quickly, and you braced yourself for her lips on yours again. Any part of her touching you again.

But she breezed past you and straight to the door, opening it.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Y/N.”

You swallowed the bitter rejection that was pooling in your mouth, and you almost made the decision to stay. To fight with her on this because she had kissed you, too. She had kissed you back. But one look in her eyes and humiliation flushed through you, sending your stomach twisting. You had the wherewithal to realize that you were going to throw up, and then you were out both doors, running down the hallway and heaving off the first railing you could find.

~~~

You coughed, sputtered, wiped at your mouth. You didn’t know when you had started crying, but tears were coating your cheeks and falling against your lips.

And then the doubt came.

How could you have been so stupid? How could you have thought that she would be interested in you?

You stopped yourself there, replaying every moment in your mind— the touches, the encouragement, the dinners, the hug. And then you got angry. Because what else were you supposed to think? Kissing the top of your head and pressing her mouth against your ear and all of the other countless things she had done to this point... maybe you had made the first move, but it wasn’t an unjustified move. Was it...?

Doubt clouded your brain again, morphing every interaction and every word that had come out of her mouth thirteen different ways. Until your mind was reeling. Until you couldn’t tell up from down and you didn’t know where the truth lay anymore.

You thought for a moment you were going to go insane, the walls pressing in around you at the realization that you couldn’t leave. Couldn’t get out. Would have to face her every day for the rest of your existence and be slammed with the memory of her lips on yours and the fact that she didn’t feel the same way. Over and over and over.

A hand on your shoulder broke your thoughts, and you tensed, not wanting to have to confront her this soon. Not wanting to deal with this right now. You needed to get your mind under control and working linearly before you could even look at her.

Fingers squeezed your shoulder and you waited for the tap of her cane, but it never came.

A soft voice asked “are you alright?” and you turned, heart sinking.

Ruth.

“Hey,” she tried again, meeting your eyes. Her brows were pulled up and she searched your face. “Are you alright?”

The words stung and you tried not to flinch, tried not to hear Wilhemina’s voice under hers, asking you that same question how many times?

You nodded, shrugging her hand off of your shoulder.

“I’m fine, thanks.” But it was a lie. A deep lie. And your brain wasn’t in any state to support it. So before you knew what was happening you were crying again, shaking hands coming up to cover your face.

“Oh no,” Ruth cooed, rubbing your back gently. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s just... I thought I heard you getting sick and I wanted to see if I could help...”

You looked at her, hands falling to fidget with your skirt, and something panged at your chest.

“Didn’t the other greys warn you to stay away from me?” you asked, a little too harshly. “According to them I’m a monster.”

She shook her head. “Screw them. They’re all idiots anyway. And just because you spend time with that horrible woman, that doesn’t make you a monster.”

You wanted to flinch. To scream. To shove this girl away and tell her she was wrong. That everything they said about Wilhemina was _wrong_. But all you could manage to stutter out was a soft, “she’s not a horrible woman.”

Ruth chuckled, hands coming up to your shoulders, and then she was pulling you into a tight hug. Her hand brushed down your back and you fought a shiver because everything was backwards. It wasn’t Wilhemina holding you and it wasn’t her warm touch on your back and it wasn’t the smell of honey and earth invading your nose. Ruth smelled like cleaning supplies. Like cleaning supplies and strawberries. And it made your stomach churn.

You pushed her away gently, trying to plaster a smile on your face because you knew she was just trying to help. But you needed to be alone right now, and Wilhemina’s words were still ringing in your ears, the memory of her cane digging under your chin making it hard to breathe.

“I think I’d like to go back to my room,” you said softly. “Thank you though. For the hug.”

She smiled at you, innocently. Sweetly. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had made a friend.

“It really helped.”

“Good.”

And then something in her eyes changed, and your brow quirked and her hands were in yours and she was leaning forward, eyes closing.

A loud shout from down below and she froze, eyes flying open.

“Ew! What the fuck is this?!”

You heard Jessica cry out and you turned, looking down at her over the railing.

She had stopped in front of the mess you made, pointing, when a grey, scurrying through the hallway had smacked straight into her, sending both of them slipping down into it.

You stifled a laugh and Ruth gasped next to you, snorting.

Jessica cried out in frustration and disgust. “What the FUCK?! What the hell is wrong with you?! Ew... oh god ew no what? STOP! Get off of me! Let me get up! This is your fault and I demand that you clean me up right this second! Where’s Bradley? BRADLEY?!”

Jessica glanced up and Ruth grabbed your wrist, yanking you down. You were giggling, and Ruth’s hand came up to cover your mouth.

She pressed a finger to her lips, stifling laughter.

And between her gasps, you heard a growl.

You froze, the sound going straight through you. That sound that had threaded through her words, your dreams. Barely audible, but you had heard it.

“Wait, shh.” You batted at Ruth, pulling her hand from your mouth.

“What?” She giggle whispered, hand falling to your lap.

Your eyes searched the hallways, the walls, for anything. A flutter of her skirt, a piece of her shadow.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, standing and brushing off your dress. Your ears were quirked, waiting for the sound of her heels or her cane or her breath_. _

But it was just your imagination.

Ruth was behind you now, her hand on your arm.

“What is it?” She whispered, and her voice wavered. You had scared her.

You shook your head. “Nothing.” One more glance around the space and then you turned back to Ruth. “It’s nothing. Sorry. I just… I need to go back to my room now.”

And so she walked you all the way back, you constantly reassuring her that she “really didn’t need to” and “I’m alright, I can manage”. But she wouldn’t leave your side, her hands annoyingly touchy, and through her giggles and whispers and jokes that didn’t land you could have sworn you heard a cane tapping. But every time you looked behind you, there was no one there.

~~~

“You sure you don’t need anything else?”

Ruth crossed your room, replacing your toothbrush and tidying your things.

“I’m fine,” you said for the millionth time, itching to be alone and sort out your brain. It was still swimming from everything that had happened, and now with Ruth here, her hands constantly on you, her kindness softening you, you really needed her to leave before you wound yourself tighter into the web of confusion swirling around you.

It was nice, having someone your own age around, treating you with kindness and compassion. But every time her hand wandered to your leg or she leaned into you or she acted with unplaced familiarity, something inside you shifted and the world felt _wrong._

You didn’t know what Ruth was getting at. Honestly your mind was too muddled to care. But you knew she was on the brink of crossing some boundaries and it was making your stomach churn at the mere idea. Not her. Not anyone. Friendship was nice, but not if it would lead to this.

Ruth sat on your bed, pulling the covers over your knees and tucking them in around you. Her fingers fidgeted at your sides and you looked up at her, questioning.

“Sorry,” she said softly, hands resting on your knees. You needed her off of you. But you couldn’t form the words. Funny, how just days ago you had told Wilhemina that you could fend for yourself. And now…

Her hands twitched and she leaned closer, smiling softly. It was too gentle. Too sweet. It almost seemed fake, and your heart started building a brick wall between that face and the soft part of your mind.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you since I arrived,” she continued. “We only really have dinner together but... I don’t know, maybe we could coordinate laundry schedules or…?”

You shook you head. “I prefer to do laundry on my own.”

“Oh,” she said softly, nodding kindly and definitely not taking the hint. “Maybe we could take kitchen shift or something together? I just want to talk. Get to know you.”

“Ms. Venable has me on a tight schedule,” you tried again, lifting her hands from your knees and placing them down on the bed. “I don’t take kitchen shifts anymore.”

She quirked her head. “Oh… Well then, what about—“

You took a deep breath, a headache forming at your temples. “Okay, you know what? How about we settle for catching up during social hour?”

She seemed pleased, eyebrows raising and a wide smile threatening to split her face in two. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your brow.

She was immediately there, pulling your fingers away. “What’s wrong? Does your head hurt? Do you need something? More water? Anything. Just tell me what you need—“

You held up your hand. “I’m fine, Ruth.” It came out harsher than you intended but you hadn’t had a second to _think _since everything had happened and her constantly on top of you was starting to suffocate you. Another deep breath. “Thank you for all of your help. I’d really just like to take a nap.”

She nodded. Didn’t move.

“Alone,” you continued, prompting her out of the room.

It took her a moment, but then she was patting your knee and walking to the door.

“Let me know if you need anything?”

You tried for your best smile, patience wavering. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

You nodded. She walked through the door with a small wave, closing it softly behind her. A second later there was a knock.

“Yes?”

Ruth peeked through again, sheepish smile on her face. “Promise you promise?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “I promise.”

“Okay,” she said, grinning, and closed the door with a light “goodnight”.

You groaned, dropping your head back onto your pillow and scrubbing your hands over your eyes. The night flashed before you and you were just starting to rewind past everything with Ruth when there was another knock on your door.

Your jaw set, frustration twisting through you. “Oh my gosh, Ruth, what?!”

The door opened quietly and you braced yourself for Ruth’s voice again, scrubbing at your brow.

Nothing.

“What _is _it? How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be alone?!”

A soft cough, and your heart plummeted.

“I suppose I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

You bolted up, heat burning your cheeks.

Wilhemina was standing with her cane in front of her, her posture slightly askew and entirely too firm for her to be comfortable. Her finger tapped on her cane and it made you squirm.

“Wilh— Ms. Venable. I’m sorry, I thought…” You scrambled, brain struggling to form a coherent thought. She was here. She was in your room and she was back and she was _here._

Venable shook her head dismissively, closing the door behind her. She took a step closer to you. Paused. Shifted.

“I—“ she started, but you cut her off.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to… to make you uncomfortable or to push you or…” You trailed off, rubbing at your brow to ease the throbbing of your racing mind.

She looked at you then. Eyes boring into yours. And without saying a word she walked over, sitting at the foot of your bed and leaning her cane against the mattress.

Her fingers immediately replaced yours, kneading and massaging and hitting the exact right spot to extinguish the ache pulsing through your brain.

_Magic fingers_, you thought absently. And then your mind went an entirely different direction.

Your hands twitched on the bed and she pulled them into her lap, delicately, gingerly. Her thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist. You hummed, shifting closer to her. Venable’s lips twitched and your brow quirked up, and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You melted into her, despite your best efforts. She was intoxicating, the way she stroked the back of your hand, the way her lips lingered just a little bit too long. The way she knew exactly what to do to make you feel better without needing to ask. It was such a stark contrast to Ruth, and it made your skin tingle.

The second Ruth crossed your mind, Venable pulled back, a frown on her face. Your breath stuttered at the loss of contact and she narrowed her eyes at you.

She sat for a moment, fingers twitching around your hands in her lap. She was staring at them intently, and the silence that filled the air was suffocating. You waited for her to say something. About anything. You were bracing yourself for the worst.

After a long while she swallowed hard, head tilting as her brow pushed up.

“What did I tell you about Ruth?” she asked, her voice soft but firm. Your heart stuttered. Sank. You had blatantly disobeyed her, but it wasn’t technically your fault. And so you scrambled. Said the first thing that came to your mind. Maybe with a little bit too much venom laced into your words.

“She’s harmless. I was just playing along.”

At that Venable’s eyes snapped to yours, fire lighting them from behind. “Don’t mock me. That _girl _was all over you. She was… touching you and tucking you in and lingering in here for far too long.” She was practically spitting, her jaw set, and you would have been afraid of her tone if you weren’t absolutely certain why she had hit it.

You licked your lips, fighting a smile. “Are you jealous, Ms. Venable?”

Her mouth twitched and you watched her throat bob as she swallowed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that…” She trailed off and suddenly she was so soft.

“That?” you prompted, fingers twitching in her lap. Her jaw was working and you could see her fighting her own thoughts. Fighting herself.

You decided against your better judgement and reached up, hooking your finger under her chin and bringing her eyes back to yours. It was probably inappropriate. You would probably pay for it later. But you needed her to look at you. To say what you knew she wanted to say. To know she could trust you, even after everything you had put her through.

Her eyes searched yours for a moment, hesitation painted on her face. But when you nodded softly and brushed your thumb over her jaw something hard set in her eyes and her nostrils flared.

“You’re _mine_,” she growled, and then her fingers were bruising your wrist as she yanked you forward.

You barely had time to register what she had said before her mouth was on you, latched onto your neck and sucking so hard that it knocked the breath out of you.

“W-What…?” you managed, choking on a moan. Venable broke away, licking a line up your jaw and nipping at your earlobe.

“I said,” she growled, nails digging into your wrist, “that you. Are. Mine.”

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it. Her breath was hot in your ear and she sounded so hungry that your mouth actually watered. And after a split second of her pulling away, her eyes flicked down to your lips and she kissed you. Hard.

It was the kind of kiss where everything spun around you and you couldn’t tell if you were breathing air or her or anything because it was so desperate and fierce and _hot _that you didn’t even remember your own name.

Her hands came up to hold your cheeks and you pushed your mouth harder against her, licking at her bottom lip. She parted her lips for you easily and then your tongue was clashing against hers, your hands twisting into the fabric of her dress and clawing at her so that she was closer, closer.

She broke away and your heart stopped, time freezing as she pushed her forehead against yours. You stared at her, not daring to move. Not daring to breathe for fear that she would pull away like the last time. That she would leave you here, breathless and helpless and wanting.

But as your eyes searched hers and her mouth hung open as she panted, you felt a slow resolve forming between you. She wasn’t going anywhere. She wouldn’t leave this time. You were hers. And that was enough.

Her hand moved from your cheek to your chin and she gripped your skin, forcing you to hold her gaze. She was flicking between hard and soft, over and over, her fingers loosening and tightening, and it was making a slow heat burn in your stomach.

When she spoke, her voice hit a pitch that sent ice down your spine.

“You are mine, Y/N. Do you understand that?” You nodded frantically. Her fingers tightened and held your face still. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you breathed, bunching her skirt in your hands.

“Not hers. Not Ruth’s.”

You tried to shake your head but her fingers slid from your chin to your throat and you froze. Needed to explain. “No. I don’t want her. This is all a big misunderstanding. She forced herself on me—“

“She _what_?” You had never heard Venable irate before, but here it was, and fuck it was hot. Hands gripped into you, teeth bared. You backtracked, though, terrified of the fire in her eyes.

“No, no! Not like that. Just. In general.”

A growl, and then her mouth was on yours again, tongue pushing past your lips. And as quickly as she had kissed you she moved, tracking a neat line down under your jaw and scraping her teeth against your skin. And the way she was kissing you, giving you exactly what you needed and then taking it away a second later, had your head reeling and heat pooling between your legs. 

You moaned, dropping your head back to give her better access and wrapping your arms around her neck.

“How?” she growled, biting and sucking and licking over her work.

Your brain was muddled from the fire she was pressing into your skin, and it took you longer than it should have to realize what she was asking. “Just. Needy. So needy.”

She hummed, tongue pushing insistently against the crook of your jaw. A soft bite, and you continued.

“She was too handsy, always talking, always asking me questions. And always touching me.”

Venable’s hands gripped into your waist and yanked, pulling you up into her lap. You gasped, holding onto her shoulders to keep your balance, and when her teeth found that soft spot behind your ear you straddled her, pressing yourself flush against her hips.

A soft moan escaped her lips, and you doubt you would have heard it if her mouth hadn’t literally been in your ear. You smirked, determined to hear it again.

You ran your hands over her shoulders, lifting yourself and sliding down her stomach, and this time she didn’t moan, but her breath caught and she froze, tongue behind your ear. Her fingers tightened, just so, and you almost thought you had made a mistake, gone too far, but then she was pulling your hips down against hers.

And that split second of hesitation, the way she had barely pulled back, gave you the opportunity to slide your hands into her tightly wound updo and latch your mouth to her neck. You dragged her collar down with your teeth and she squirmed, and when you licked the space where her collar had been, biting down on a freckle, her hips bucked up into yours.

You giggled against her, and she hummed. And then she stopped, pushing you off of her.

You whined, uncertainty washing over you. But when you met her dark eyes and she smirked, you relaxed.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, fingers reaching behind her and gripping around her cane.

You nodded without even thinking, breathing out a soft “yes”, and then she was up, hand tight around your wrist as she pulled you through the door.

“Let’s go.”

~~~

You watched the hair at the base of her neck as she wrenched you out into the corridors, hand iron around your wrist. Your fingers had barely gotten up into it and it was just starting to fall out of the pins, bouncing looser and looser with every step. And your eyes stayed trained on it, betting yourself if it would fall or not. Because if you thought about what was actually happening you were afraid your legs would give out and you would collapse from sheer want.

It terrified you, her dragging you down the halls, yanking you after her as you stumbled. Your mind was reeling and your knees were weak and your dress was still crinkled from where she had rucked you down into her. And her collar was still pushed down from where your mouth had been.

The hallways were empty until you hit the greys’ quarters, and at the sound of Venable’s cane they scurried out of sight. Except you could still feel their eyes on you. On both of you. And Venable must have felt it, too, because before you could let your fingers twitch in her grip she slammed her cane down between steps and her voice boomed through the halls.

“Back to your rooms. Now.”

And then they were gone and she pulled you around a corner and you could see her door looming in front of you and your cheeks burned as her fingers tightened against your wrist.

You were doing this. She was taking you back to her room and you were doing this.

~~~

She dragged you through the wooden door and you were just coherent enough to grab the knob and pull it shut behind you. It had barely closed when she whirled, her mouth found yours, and then you were against the wall in the small space between the two doors and she was _devouring _you. You melted into her and she tugged you forward off the wall, flicking her hand out behind her. The metal door flew open and you were practically thrown through it.

A second later it slammed, the sound deafening, and you had just enough time to turn around to face Wilhemina before her mouth was on you again. And stars, if you had realized that pulling her to you right here only hours before would lead to this, you would have done it weeks ago.

Her mouth was hot, so hot, and your stomach burned because you couldn’t help but think about how amazing that heat would feel licking over every inch of you. And as she pushed her tongue past your lips her hands landed on your hips, gripping tighter than they had on your wrist and walking you back, back, back.

You twisted your fingers into the frilly fabric at her shoulders to keep your balance, gripped them into her arms, slid them up behind her neck to pull her mouth impossibly closer.

You didn't know when she had dropped her cane, you hadn’t heard it fall, but honestly at this point with her tongue digging deeper into your mouth and the small growls coming out of her, you doubted you would have heard a stampede. All you could hear was her. The sound of her kissing you. The sound of her breathing. The rumble that was racking up in the back of her throat.

And you felt her, felt the heat pouring off of her, felt her stomach brushing against yours as she walked you around the corner, past the piano. Felt her thigh occasionally slide between your legs. But before you could even think about finding some sort of friction against it she would force you back another step. And another. And the inconsistency of the pressure there and the hollow space, the back and forth, was making something toxic pour through your veins.

By the time she had you in her room you were edging on screaming. And she either had no idea or knew exactly what she had been doing the entire time. Either way, your patience was gone.

“Wilhemina,” you ground out, her name the only thing you could comprehend as you yanked your hands down her arms, nails scratching over the fabric. You could have sworn you heard a seam rip.

Something between a growl and a hum fell out of her and her hands stuttered, and in that split second you grabbed her, spinning her and slamming her back into the thick post at the base of her bed.

Wilhemina cried out, loud before she caught her teeth around it and swallowed the end down. And you smirked as you shoved yourself against her. You pushed her further back into the post, so far and so hard that you couldn’t tell if your chest was heaving because you were breathless or because she was gasping _into _you.

And because you had her pinned this time, because your hands were on her waist to hold her still — lord, she would not stop trying to push against you — her hands were free to wander. And wander they did.

It started light, fleeting touches down your arms and over your back, such a stark contrast to how hard she had been before that it made you itch. But as your mouth dropped down her jaw, down her neck, found those freckles under her collar again and _sucked_, her grip hardened, tightened, thick and heavy. And as she tugged at your hair and yanked pieces free, you couldn’t help but smile.

You bit down over a freckle, flattening your tongue and licking. Sighing at the taste of her. She smelled like earth and honey, but she tasted like… the mist under a full moon. Intoxicating. Addicting. Deep and dark and all-consuming.

Wilhemina moaned softly, the sound barely formed. You weren’t even sure it had come out of her mouth. You felt it against your lips more than anything, still lodged in her throat.

She caught you mid-bite, hands finding your jaw and pulling you up so that she could press her forehead to yours. And as she looked at you, eyes dark and pupils blown and lips kiss-swollen, you realized how hard she was panting.

Your heart skipped, stomach dropped. Because you had done that. She was breathless because of you. Your mouth. And she looked like she was about to _destroy _you. She made to capture your lips with hers, but she hesitated, hovered, growled as she licked her pointed tongue over your upper lip.

And as your breath hitched, as your eyes fluttered shut and your fingers slacked on her waist just so_, _she wrapped an arm around your back, spinning you and pushing you into the bedpost.

“Wilhe— ah, ow—“ you gasped as she tightened her grip on you, pulling you into her body and putting her full weight against the post. You were trapped, wedged, and you thought for a moment that you could suffocate right here with her pressed into you and you would die happily.

A hum and her hands were on your shoulders, shoving you into the bedpost. Once, twice. Hard.

“Stay.”

You had barely gotten a breath in, eyes wide, and then she was off of you and walking across the room to her vanity.

Your eyes tracked her as she walked, so smooth, so sultry. She was practically gliding and your fingers itched. It took everything you had not to follow her and push her down on that vanity, sliding your hands over her thighs and pulling her to you and rucking up her dress and—

“Take out your braid.”

You were snapped back to the present, fingers wrapped behind you and nails digging into the wood of the post.

Wilhemina stood in front of her vanity, brow twitching in concentration as she glanced over to you. Nodded.

It was such a simple command, and you were absolutely sure that you looked a wreck, hair falling out of its braid and dress absolutely crumpled. But you swallowed, pulling your hair over your shoulder and picking out the knot at the bottom. You almost looked away from her. Almost. But then her fingers slid up the cuff of her sleeve and there was a soft snap and she peeled the glove off her left hand, slowly. Deliberately.

She slid it off, finger by finger, and she flexed her hand when she was finished, dropping the glove mercilessly on the vanity. Her brow arched.

“I told you to take your braid out.”

Your eyes went wide, fingers scrambling through your hair because you had completely forgotten to do anything other than stare at her fingers.

It dropped in heaps over your shoulders, not doing anything to cool you off, and as you tried to adjust it, tried to fluff it up and make yourself look _any _sexier, she peeled her other glove off. You watched it fall onto the vanity, watched her slip her now bare fingers over her sleeves, straightening them out.

Her eyes met yours, head still tilted down as she tugged her sleeves down, and as intoxicating as her gaze was, your eyes caught on something on her wrist. Your brow furrowed.

“Sit,” she ordered as she stalked back towards you. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of the lace at the base of her sleeve, brushing against something…

Your hand wrapped around her wrist before she had made it back to you, tugging her towards you and closing that cold space. You hummed at the feel of her against you again. Glanced up at her.

“Y/N,” she prompted, nodding to the bed. And when you didn’t move, fingers twitching over her wrist, her eyes narrowed.

You bit down on a smile, brows flicking up in a challenge as you brought her left hand between you. You leaned up as your thumb brushed over her palm, kissing her softly. And your thumb worked higher as she deepened the kiss, her free hand cupping your jaw delicately as her lips worked so sweetly over yours. You hummed against her mouth and she hummed in return, lower and shorter.

And when you felt a smile twitch against your lips you almost forgot what you were doing. But then her fingers fidgeted in your grip and you broke away. Ran your thumb up under her sleeve. Pushed it up. Just so. Nudged the stiff fabric past her pulse point and yes. There it was. The simplest of tattoos.

You swallowed a smirk and she started to say something, mouth opening in an explanation as her other hand tried to pry your grip off. But you pulled her fingers away, lifting her wrist to your mouth and pressing a soft kiss over the black ink.

Her eyes fluttered shut and you kissed it again, relishing the soft stutter over the whisper of your name.

“Hm?” you hummed against her skin, and as her eyes opened and you met her gaze you flattened your tongue over the tattoo, licking a hot, slow trail down her wrist before biting down on the tattoo, nipping at her pulse point.

And the sound that came out of her, something between a gasp and a laugh and a whimper. Dear _lord, _you had never heard a sound so beautiful. You needed to hear it again, needed it running through your mind, through your veins. Needed it echoing off the walls.

You slammed your mouth to hers, abandoning her wrist to cup her face in both of your hands, drag her mouth down, pull her into you. And no sooner had you smiled, felt her smile right back against your mouth, then her hands were digging into your waist and pushing you back and you found yourself once again pinned between her and a post and suffocating under the pressure of her intensity.

Her hands slid down over your ass and her grip was just a little bit too tight as she pulled your hips flush against hers. You gasped. Moaned into her mouth. And her smile grew. She dragged her hips over yours, grinding you into the bedpost. And as you whimpered, fingers scratching up behind her ears and holding her mouth firmly to yours, she chuckled.

“Wilhemina,” you breathed, gasping as she nudged your thighs apart with her knee.

She pushed her leg up a fraction of an inch, so close to where you needed it and your breath hitched, hands falling and gripping into her shoulders to keep yourself upright. Her fingers slid to your waist, pressing into your hipbones, thumbs flicking over the skin there. Even through the fabric over your dress it was almost too much.

“Wilhemina,” you tried again as her mouth dropped to your neck, nipping so softly you thought you had imagined it. But then her lips locked there, sucking so hot that your vision went spotty.

She hummed questioningly against your skin and your fingers twitched up her neck.

“Please,” you tried weakly, wriggling your hips and tugging softly at her hair. A few strands fell out of their pins and you twisted your fingers into them.

She scraped her teeth over your pulse point and you groaned, dropping your head back against the bedpost.

“Please what?” she murmured against your skin, and you could feel her smirk.

“Please,” you tried again, trying your best to focus on words and not on the way the stretch of her smirk was making your skin burn. “I need—“

You barely got the words out and she bit down again, harder this time as she yanked your hips down on her thigh.

Your breath hitched and your heart jumped into your throat, and it was beating so hard you were sure it would choke you and then knock itself out of your chest.

She glanced up at you for a split second, eyes narrowing teasingly as she pushed her leg up just so.

Half of a whimper made its way out of your mouth until you locked eyes with her and it drowned in a moan.

“Fuck, how are you so—“ And she cut you off again with another bite, this one over your clavicle as her hands ghosted down your sides. You shivered. Squirmed.

“Finish your sentences, darling,” Wilhemina said softly, fingers tightening on your hips as she mouthed at your neck.

You whined, shaking your head. All words and thoughts had flown from your mind and you had one singular focus. The way her fingers were gripped into your hips and forcing you to grind _oh so slowly _on her thigh.

You wiggled against her, begging for more friction, for her to go faster. But she only slowed down, licking an agonizing line up to the base of your ear and pressing her mouth against it.

“Say it,” she breathed, and you gasped when she yanked you down hard on her leg, nails digging through your dress.

“Sexy,” you choked out, swallowing a moan as she hummed in approval. Her teeth scraped over your earlobe. Fingers tightened. Leg hitched up.

And then she pulled back, tugging you, turning you, and shoving you down onto the bed.

She gripped her hands into your knees, pushing them apart as she stepped between them. You gulped, blinking up at her, and she was so hard for a fraction of a second. For a moment you were almost terrified. But then she dug her teeth into her bottom lip and she was looking at you with such desire and you felt tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes because you were here. You were _finally _here.

You leaned back on the bed, holding her gaze, and reached out to her. Both hands. And she took them.

You tugged her over you and her knee hitched up on the bed between your legs, mouth hot and sloppy against yours as she pressed your hands into the mattress.

She let out a pleased hum and your hips bucked involuntarily because she had you pinned and her thigh was _right there._ You let out a soft whine and you could have sworn you heard her gasp. And when her brow pushed up and you nodded, just so, she yanked you up against her.

You melted into her, into the way she was half-straddling you, into the feel of her hand sliding down your side, over the top of your thigh, slipping under the hem of your dress. Until it was _right_ where you wanted it. Her fingers twitched, flexing and ghosting over your underwear before sliding back up to the safety of your waist.

You moaned, canting your hips up, deepening the kiss. And before you knew it your dress was rucked up around your waist, her fingers running down your stomach and fidgeting with the band of your underwear.

You pushed your hips into her hand, nodding into the kiss. “Please,” you breathed against her mouth, sliding your hand up her jaw, over her hair, down her shoulder. “Please, Wilhemina.”

Your dress was ripped off in an instant. You had no idea how she did it. She never pulled the zipper. You heard fabric tear, felt cold air on your shoulder, but then the crumpled thing was being yanked up over your head and you were exposed, cold air hitting every piece of you that wasn’t covered by your slip. Goosebumps broke out over your skin.

Her mouth was back on you before you could shiver, and as she slid the straps of your slip down your shoulders her tongue followed, moving in a neat line down your neck, past your collarbone, down the hem of the fabric. Further and further, tracking it as she pulled it down. Exposed more and more of your chest.

She had the thing down your stomach in a second and then her mouth opened, the kisses sloppy and wet and messy. She found a spot by the crease of your waist and you lifted your hips, letting her pull the slip down over your thighs. She slid down between your legs as she pulled it past your knees, let it drop off your calves and onto the floor.

But you were cold. So cold, and you needed her on top of you. It didn’t matter that you were completely exposed before her. Didn’t matter that she was looking at you with such reverence you were flushing deep red. You needed her on top of you and you needed that dress off of her body.

You grabbed for her arms, pulling at her, tugging and whining and you sounded pathetic but you didn’t care. The heat that had been building in your stomach was too angry to ignore, and if she didn’t settle herself between your thighs and touch you again, you were sure you would combust.

She grinned, softening as she chuckled. “Needy.”

And you nodded because you _were. _But that must have been the wrong thing to do because in that second she hardened, almost too much, her hands catching at your wrists. Her grip was iron tight again as she yanked you to her, and you gasped, the breath knocked out of you.

“Wilhemina,” you panted, eyes searching hers.

Her nose twitched and something hot burned behind her eyes. She leaned in close, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth as she panted against you, lips centimeters from yours and your noses brushing.

“Who do you belong to?”

You gulped, fingers twitching in her grip. “You, Wilhemina.”

But she didn’t soften. She didn’t relax, and you weren’t sure she had really heard you, something like doubt clouding her features. So you tugged your hand from her grip, pulling her wrist back to your mouth and kissing over her tattoo again because it was the only way you could think to get her attention. To make her listen.

She shivered, almost imperceptibly, and you watched her shoulders relax, felt her grip loosen on your other hand.

You hummed, satisfied.

Her eyes fluttered shut as you moved your mouth, pushing her sleeve up and pressing hot kisses to as much skin as you could reach.

“I’m the only one that you touch like this,” she stuttered out, fingers twitching in your grip. “Do you understand?”

And you nodded, biting down softly because if only she knew. If only she realized that she was the only person that you wanted to touch like this. That you would ever want to touch like this again. If only she understood just how much of you she owned. How much of your heart was entirely hers.

“Good girl,” she breathed. And at those words you broke. Something always twisted in your chest when she muttered them, but this time, how breathy it was, it was the heat in the base of your stomach that tightened.

You lunged forward, kissing her fiercely and sliding a hand up into the hair that had fallen out of its pins. Pulled more of it out. She gasped as you scraped your teeth over her bottom lip, chuckling, and you made a mental note, tugging harder on her hair and sliding your hand up her arm and over her back. Bit down on her lip and yanked as your fingers found the zipper of her dress and tugged it down.

She made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat, and it reverberated through your entire body because you had been waiting for it. Waiting for her to draw that line and keep herself protected.

You had slid her zipper down countless times now. Had helped her undress, pulling the fabric off of her and holding her hand as she stepped out of it. But this was different. You knew that. And you had a feeling that she hadn’t let someone pull her clothes off like this in years, if ever.

You stopped, nodding softly as you released her lip and pulled the zipper back up. You tugged her down over you, laying back on the bed.

“Okay,” you started, because she was stiffening by the second and you didn’t want to ruin this moment, didn’t want her thinking of anything other than the heat between you. “Okay, it’s okay.”

You pushed your forehead against hers. “It’s alright,” you breathed, trying to meet her gaze. But she wasn’t looking at you.

Your hand found her jaw, tilting her face up. “Wilhemina, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

And when she finally looked at you, when you nudged her nose up with yours, there were tears brimming in her eyes. One fell, dragging down her flushed cheek before dripping off of her face and falling onto your chest.

You flinched at the warmth of it, brow pushed up as she stared at you, opened her mouth. Closed it. Choked on the thickness in her throat. 

“Hey,” you tried, your heart pushing its way up into your mouth as panic spread through your chest because oh god, oh lord this was absolutely not what you had wanted. Something about this woman -- broken, open, vulnerable. Crying in front of you. _Letting_ herself cry in front of you. There was a need that was breaking your soul and you realized in that moment you would do anything to keep her safe. To protect her. No one was ever going to hurt her again. Not without going through you first. And you were prepared to fight tooth and nail to keep this terrified expression off of her face.

She choked on a soft sob, her eyes skidding off of yours, and you started at the realization that she was panting. Panting hard with the effort to keep herself from crying, from breaking down over you.

“Wilhemina,” you breathed, kissing her cheek over the streak where the tear had fallen. Kissing the crease between her brows. “Look at me, beautiful.”

And she gasped. Because you had never called her beautiful before or because no one had ever called her beautiful before, you really didn’t know.

“Look at me,” you said again, tipping her chin up. Her eyes met yours, and there was something so hesitant behind them, like she was bracing herself to be rejected. But they twitched as you smiled, kissing her nose. “There’s my girl.”

She rolled her eyes fondly, letting a hoarse laugh fall from her lips. She licked them, swallowing down the tears that had thickened her saliva. And you pressed a hot kiss to her jaw as her throat bobbed.

“You’re safe,” you murmured into her skin. A soft sigh and she nodded against you. Pulled your mouth back to hers.

She kissed you softly at first, delicately and sweetly and you hummed against her. But before you knew it her lips were pressing harder against yours and her tongue was fighting its way into your mouth and she slid her hand up the back of your thigh, hooking your leg over her waist as she leaned down.

It almost burned, the angle, but then she was kissing down your neck, hotter and faster and practically biting you as she moved down your chest, down over your ribs, her nails dragging over every bone and pinching just under your breast.

You gasped, hands flying to her hair as you arched off the bed.

“Oh god, Wilhemina,” you panted, and when she looked up at you, her tongue sliding in that little dip between your ribs, eyes dark and a smirk on her face, the last piece of hesitation left you. She was back and she was okay and she was looking entirely too comfortable as she ran her tongue lazily over your stomach. You caved, hands pushing and tugging at her hair as you urged her further. Faster.

The entire night built back into the heat in your stomach and your patience was wavering at best. It was everything you could do not to slam your hands down on her head and _push _and not let her move until you were shaking against her mouth.

But in typical Venable fashion, she knew exactly what you wanted before you had even thought to ask for it. A flick of her finger and your underwear were gone. Cold air hit your core as she spread your legs further apart, and your breath hitched when her mouth hit that sensitive spot on the inside of your thigh. She wasn’t where you wanted her. Where she knew you needed her. And you were done waiting.

“Wilhemina,” you panted, tugging on her hair, practically yanking her up between your legs. “Please. Come on.”

“Oh my,” she murmured into your skin, eyes darting over to yours. She bit down as she held your gaze. “Someone’s impatient.”

She licked over the bite and you groaned, eyes pleading.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whined, hands sliding further into her hair. But she only hummed as you tugged harder, moving down to the crease of your knee. Another bite. “Jesus, Wilhemina.”

She licked up your thigh, her tongue cold against your hot skin, pausing just inches from your core. Blew out a laugh. The cold air washed over you and you squirmed, hands hitting gently against her head.

“Wilhemina, I mean it. Please,” you panted, your body vibrating so hard you were sure she could feel you shaking.

Her tongue flicked out, licking at the crease of your thigh. A groan fell out of you and you bucked your hips up involuntarily. She puffed another breath over your core.

“Ask me again,” she growled, fingers tightening on your thighs as she pulled herself forward, just so, and lord in heaven she was so close.

“Please,” you whined, tugging at her hair and now there were tears in your eyes because you had a feeling she was going to pull away. “Please, god, Wilhemina I need you, please. Fuck me, I—“

You cried out as her mouth hit your core, tongue flat and hard and sliding through your arousal like she hadn’t eaten in years.

“Fuck—“ you moaned, fingers tightening in her hair. She hummed against you, flicking her tongue over your clit, and as she did it again, and again, and again, your sounds and your words and your cries intensified. 

It got to the point where you thought you would explode from the sheer pleasure coursing through you, the agony of anticipation making every second excruciatingly amazing. But you still needed more.

And just as the thought crossed your mind her hand slid up the inside of your thigh, fingers scratching too lightly until two of them slipped into you with such ease you couldn’t help but laugh, breathless. And your fingers twitched in her hair as she pulled back, just so, to press a delicate kiss to the inside of your thigh.

She watched you as she slid her fingers in and out, agonizingly slow. Bit her lip, quirked her brow as your hands left her hair and pressed over your face.

“Fuck, Wilhemina,” you breathed, rolling your hips into her hand to get more of her inside of you. To get more friction.

“What do you want?” she asked calmly, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You choked on the words as she curled her fingers. And she had the nerve to hum, chuckle darkly, and say “try again, darling.”

You growled, reaching forward and yanking her up by her shoulders. Her mouth slammed against yours and you moaned against her lips, the sheer taste of her mixed with the taste of you making your head spin. And then there was her hand, moving so slowly inside of you, her fingers twisting and curling and hitting that perfect spot, but entirely too gently.

“More,” you panted against her mouth, your teeth clashing over her lips. “P-Please… More…”

She smirked against your mouth, her thumb hitting your clit perfectly and _stars_ you didn’t know how she was doing it, those magic fingers of hers circling and pushing and curling in a way that yours never could. That no one’s ever could. She was too perfect. Too wonderful. And as the heat in the base of your stomach stoked tenfold you realized that you never wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else ever again. She was yours. She owned every inch of you. And you were happy to give every piece of your soul to her.

You cried out as her nail dug over your clit and she pinched you there, the shock coursing up your body.

“Ah— Oh— Wilhe—M-Mina," you gasped, chest heaving into hers as she growled into your mouth.

Her pace doubled, tripled, until her hand was working so fast that you dug your heel into her back to keep yourself grounded, your toes curling as every atom of your being tensed and burned and went numb.

“Yes, yes,” you panted, hand in her hair, holding her mouth to yours as your other hand slid over her back, down her waist, over her ass. “Just like that, don’t stop. Oh god, don’t stop.”

And as her fingers curled and her thumb dug into your clit _just right, _your world shattered around you and she sucked the air out of your mouth and your hands were clawing at any piece of her you could find.

A scream was pulled out of your chest that you couldn’t hear, ears ringing, but you could feel it bouncing off the walls as she stroked you through your orgasm. And then there was a heat burning through you that you vaguely remembered and the room spun and she wasn’t stopping_._

“Fuck, Wil- Wilhe- M-Mina, fuck, yes Mina, oh god, I… _Mina, I—_“

Something ripped through you and you screamed, arching off of the bed as your nails dug into her, and even with your eyes screwed shut you saw the lights flicker, pop, and blow out.

You whined as her fingers slowed, pulling every inch of your orgasm out of you, and as you opened your eyes on darkness, all you could see was her hair. But you could feel her smirking against your neck.

You sighed, dropping your head back into the mattress and melting against the soft white comforter.

“Oh god,” you panted, hands sliding sloppily over her shoulders and pulling her face back to yours. And you kissed her so deeply you thought you might faint.

She was off of you before you had caught your breath, vision still spotty as your senses came back to you.

You felt the mattress shift with her movement. Bit your lip and swallowed hard to find your voice again.

“What happened to the lights?” you questioned as you rolled over, eyes adjusting to the darkness and settling on Wilhemina, pushed up against the headboard.

She hummed, smirking. “Yes, well… We’ll have to get that under control, won’t we?”

You quirked your head, brow twitching at her implication. But then she chuckled, dark and deep. Heat pooled back in your stomach and you needed to hear that sound again with her hands in your hair.

You started to crawl up the bed to her, eyes raking over her crossed legs, tilted posture. But when she caught your eye she seemed to read your mind for the millionth time that night, and before you knew what was happening she had you tucked against her, her heartbeat in your ear.

“Shh,” she cooed, her fingers practically vibrating against your skull as they threaded through your hair. And before you could protest, push yourself off of her and grip your hands into her waist and straddle her, something warm pricked at your nose. Suddenly you were too tired to think straight, images of the two of you warm and safe and wrapped up in each other’s arms pooling through your mind. Your eyes grew heavy and you thought you saw stars dance across the ceiling. And then you were asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! We made it!! FINALLY, am I right?? I hope that you enjoyed it!! As always, kudos and comments are so incredibly appreciated and never fail to make my day!! Give me all of your thoughts!! I love hearing them xD  
Okay now, buckle up and brace yourselves for the next part because my, oh my do things get... interesting ;)


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